


Dark Night of the Soul

by bookwormchocaholic



Series: Dark Night Series [1]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Regency Romance, Rumbelle - Freeform, thedarkcastle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 03:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 72,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4375523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwormchocaholic/pseuds/bookwormchocaholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle French, the dutiful daughter of a farmer, is astonished when she learns her father is in danger of losing her childhood home to the notorious Mr. Gold. Known far and wide as the Beast, she is faced with a choice that will change the course of her life, as well as the lives of those around her. Rumbelle meets the Regency Era. AU Historical, no magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Okay, so this was originally written as a Christian novel that I hoped to published in the Christian market. That didn't work out for various reasons, the most obvious that I Rumbelled the hero and heroine too much. So rather than give up on it, I've decided to transform it into actual fan fiction and toned down the "preachy" parts. Its not manigificent by any means, but I hope that someone out there enjoys it. Thanks for reading. 
> 
> For those interested, here is a pinterest board dedicated to the story: https://www.pinterest.com/vlbooks/fan-fiction-dark-night-of-the-soul/

Ashby, Hampshire, England  
August 1813

Belle French’s cheeks puffed out as she held her breath and eased herself down on the thick tree limb. There was no doubt in her mind that the tree would hold her weight; she had perched on this gnarled branch hundreds of times over the whole of her youth. She had long since mastered the trick of not snagging her cotton frock on the teeth of the bark or staining it with sticky sap. 

The wind blustered through, rustling the leaves and causing her balance to be off. She laid a volume of Cowper in her lap and raised her arms to steady herself, like a bird spreading its wings. When the breeze died down, she was able to exhale. The large maple was one of her favorite places. Ideal for reading… and daydreaming.  
The sloping valley that stretched out before her was yellowed from a summer’s sun and the air smelled musky of smoke from her home’s leaky chimney. A hazy fog filled the air, rising off the grass, a clear sign that autumn was around the corner. 

No sooner had she cracked open her Mother’s book of beloved poetry, did the sound of heavy booted footsteps on nimble twigs approach. The familiar clopping reminded her of obnoxious horse hooves.

“What a lovely bird you make. Much like one of those little pigeons.” Gaston Harcourt was standing on the roots of the tree, one hand on its side.  
His handsome, dusky head was turned upwards as he gazed at her. The morning light glinted off his dark blue eyes. As his neck was craned back, his Adam’s Apple bulged. He flashed a toothy grin. He was striking and he knew it too. Whenever he could use his charm or his looks to his benefit, he would. Nothing repelled her more than an overabundance of arrogance…except for a man who was consciously obsessive of his good looks.

She closed the book. “Mr. Harcourt, are you here to see my Father?” she asked, knowing fully well what the answer would be. For the last few months he had been setting store by her. 

“I came to see you, actually. Belle, I am in love with you. I’ve loved you from the moment I first clamped eyes on you.” Gaston produced a little box from his pocket and flicked it open. A tiny diamond ring twinkled at her. “Will you marry me?”

Belle swallowed. Please not now! What could she say? For as long as she had known him, she had never encouraged him. Oh, she did show him kindness once or twice, but she meant nothing by it. Yet somehow he got it into his thick head that she would make him a dutiful little wife. 

“With such ardent words, who would read novels?” An unfamiliar sneering voice broke in. 

She shifted and saw a slight man standing a few feet off, leaning on a cane. His narrow face was pinched into disgust. “Is Maurice French home? I have a matter of business to discuss with him.”

Though he was a stranger to her, she was grateful for his interruption, no matter how rude it was. She could use him as an excuse to pardon herself and escape Gaston’s ridiculous attempts at love making. 

“My father is inside. I shall take you to him.” She said. 

Tucking the volume of Cowper under one arm, Belle twisted and began her descent from the tree. A pair of hands spanned her waist and assisted her to her feet. Assuming it to be Gaston, she turned around to thank him and came nose to nose with their guest. 

“Thank you.” She primly nodded to the man, averting her gaze until he set her on the ground and released her. For propriety’s sake, he was much too close. 

The man shrugged. “It’s no matter.”

Gaston was off to the side, his arms folded over his massive chest. “What about my proposal?” His wide mouth was drawn into a frown.

Belle felt the other man’s judging eyes on her and wished that one or both gentlemen would disappear. “Really, can we not discuss this later?” 

Gaston reached out to touch her elbow. “But I don’t mind that you don’t have a dowry. That is of little consequence. I shall never mention it again when we are married. Please, Belle, don’t be embarrassed-”

“Aye, don’t be ashamed that your father can’t bribe him to take you off his hands. Mr. French is indebted to me.” The other man interrupted again, his Scottish brogue weighing down his sharp words. He took out his pocket watch, and after glancing at it, he clicked it shut and stuck it back in his vest pocket. “Can you finish this tête-à-tête another time? Preferably when I’m not present to watch.”

Belle felt her face heat up. She didn’t know this man from Adam. The last thing she wanted to do was air her dirty laundry before him. There was something underhanded about this gentleman and if Father did owe him a debt, this man might result to extortion. 

She quirked her finger, gesturing him to follow. “Come this way.”

She couldn’t help but notice that as he walked beside her, that he was relying upon his cane for assistance. Some gentlemen used walking sticks as an accessory of sort and as a sign of prestige. However, this man’s left leg didn’t appear to be working properly. He had a limp.

He glared when he saw that she was staring. 

To disguise her unease, and to ascertain the truth, Belle asked, “Is it true that my father is in your debt? Or were you just being spiteful?”

“I never lie, if I can help it, dearie. My apologies though.” The corners of his mouth upturned, his hand over his heart. “Will you accept your suitor?”

“Not that it is any of your concern, but if I wanted to accept his suit, your sudden arrival wouldn’t have stopped me.” Belle tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, as though to let him know that he was being snubbed. 

Leading him through the narrow hallway and to the room on the left, Belle paused in the doorway. “Father, you have a visitor.” She nodded coldly to the unknown Scotsman. In a friendlier tone, she asked her Father, “Would you like some tea?”

Father glanced up. When his aged eyes rested on the man, he gulped. He shook his head, offering her a congenial smile. “Not now, dear. Thank you. Please close the door on your way out.”

As the guest strode into the little library, she brushed past him and quietly shut the door. 

Belle knew that she was too old for listening in, but was unable to resist. She knelt down and pressed her ear to the keyhole. If that man was right and her father did owe him a substantial amount, then she wanted to hear the exact details of it. 

#

The second the door clicked shut, Adam sat on one of the flattened cushioned chairs and crossed his bad knee over his right. He hooked the crook of his cane on the arm of the chair. As he waited for Maurice French to initiate the conversation, he was briefly distracted by the flowery scent the young woman left behind. Lavender. He first smelled it when he helped her down from that tree. What an unusual girl; after all, ladies did not climb trees.

A dove. That was the bird that Gaston Harcourt fool should have compared her to. That would have been far more fitting than a dimwitted pigeon.

Belle, as her father called her, couldn’t have known who he was or what her father owed him, or else she wouldn’t have talked back to him. No one crossed him, man or woman. Others had the good sense to keep their distance. Though she had been peeved, it was the first time in a long time that someone upheld their end of a conversation with him. It was rather invigorating.

The other man mashed his lips together, growing whiter by the minute. 

Adam sighed. “Do you have my money?”

He shook his large, round head, causing his jowls to jiggle. “W-well, my crops have not done well this year. We have had too much rain and the water choked them and they drowned. I have not made a profit for some years now. But I plan-”

“I don’t care about your plans.” Adam gritted his teeth. “I care about results.”

“Please, Mr. Gold, you don’t understand. My circumstances…Daughters are not inexpensive-”

“Then perhaps you should have drowned some of them at birth.”

Maurice drew in a wounded gasp. He could have sworn he heard a fainter, more feminine gasp from the hallway.

Adam sniggered. He often got a rise out of making people squirm. There was nothing more amusing.

Maurice French was the sort of man who thought he could shift the blame of his failures onto others. If he had to use his daughters as an excuse, then so be it. It didn’t matter that he was the one who racked up the debts; he wouldn’t take responsibility for his actions. In the last three years, Maurice had borrowed a little over five thousand pounds for various repairs and likely squandered it. He had yet to pay a fourth of it back.

“I have been more than patient. Either give what is due me or I will take your land. It is as simple as that. Understand?” Adam said.

The land that Maurice possessed was fine and fertile and could turn a profit, provided it was in capable hands. Its current owner did as poorly at farming as he did at managing his finances. To Adam’s satisfaction, it was all worth far above five thousand. But that was the price Maurice French would have to pay for using his land as collateral.  
Maurice rested his right hand on a nearby Bible and held his left in midair. “Yes, of course. As God as my witness-”

“Let’s leave God out of this.” Adam stood and grabbed his cane. The only thing that irritated him more than measly excuses was fools who used God when it pleased them. “I am sure the Almighty has more important things to do than act as your witness. You have one more week.”

He crossed over to the door, dragging his leg behind him on the dull, worn carpet. He flung it open, in time to see the girl in the golden dress hasten down the hallway and disappear into another room. Once more he was bombarded by the cologne she was wearing. What was her name? Ah, Belle, of course! She must have been listening in. Sly little minx.

Adam headed out the front door thinking it was better that she learn now that her father was a failure as a human being than be surprised by it later on. In his experience, fathers rarely proved reliable. His own was a waste of perfectly good skin. In his opinion, Maurice French wasn’t turning out much better.

#  
Belle parted the lacey white curtains and from the sitting room window, she watched the mysterious figure hobble down the moistened pathway to his carriage. What he had said was true; they did owe him a substantial amount of money, far beyond what could ever be repaid. Father confirmed that he had taken out some kind of loan. But the situation couldn’t be as abominable as the man had painted it. There must be a silver lining in all of this.

Her Father never borrowed money. Under her Mother’s wise influence, if the family didn’t have the funds, they did without. Since her Mother’s untimely demise, Father allowed his grief to rule him and made rash choices. They must be in a very bad fix if he was desperate enough to go to some obscure Scottish gentleman for assistance. Especially the one with such a cold demeanor.

Her older sisters, Eloise and Patricia flounced in not long after, arms linked together, the skirts fluttering. 

Patricia wrinkled her petite nose. “Hateful man. What could Father have been thinking, borrowing money from him?”

“I know! Father made a deal with the devil himself. Have you heard? They say the Beast once owned people. He dabbled in the slave trade.” Eloise tisked her tongue. “He is evil to the core.” 

The Beast. The phrase alone made her shudder.

Belle had heard tales of such a man; no one could live near Ashby and avoid hearing of him. What short amount of time she had spent in his presence, though she was not studying him, she had to admit that he was not the hideous creature that she had conjured in her lively imagination. While not ugly, he certainly lived up to his pet name, the Beast. Reports of his wickedness had been spread far and wide, even beyond the boundaries of Hampshire. The rumor of Mr. Gold owning slaves may have been true at one time, but no one had in the county had seen any black men or women on his property. Therefore, that one had to be nothing more than a myth. Unless he owned plantations based in India.

Well, he couldn’t be all bad. He had to know deep down that her father had no money and that it was a hopeless cause. If he didn’t, surely he wouldn’t hold that against them. Sometimes people acted badly because that was what was expected of them. Perhaps if given the opportunity, Mr. Gold would behave in a more Christian and gentleman-like manner.

Belle sighed. “I can’t believe that. There must be good in him somewhere. Remember what Mother use to say?” She sent them an encouraging look. However neither took the hint and recited the platitude. “‘There is a little good in everyone. Sometimes you just need a pick and a shovel to dig down deep and find it.’”

Eloise patted her cheek. “Sweet Belle, not even Mother’s Christian charity could apply to the Beast.”

Her sisters turned back to the window, exchanging numerous tidbits of what they heard about Mr. Gold. As much as she loved her sisters, they never used their minds or their time productively. Their attention was often fixated on finding a suitable husband or fitting their bonnets in the latest fashions or acquiring a new muslin. There were moments when they seemed to share one brain… one very feeble, insignificant brain. Long ago, her two older sisters had banded together, leaving her out in the cold. Luckily she had Mother and clung to the dear woman’s skirts at an early age and then became her constant companion.

The door opened and Father went straight to his preferred chair by the fireplace. He sunk down into its flimsy cushion. Most of their furniture and decorations of their home was far beyond shabby. From age and constant use, what they possessed was in a pitiful state. There had to be gypsies out there who had better. However most of the pieces had been selected by her beloved Mother and others had been embroidered by her too. Such things were too near to Belle’s heart that she refused to have to them replaced, no matter how atrocious they looked.

Her sisters ceased their whispering. They wouldn’t dare ask Father what occurred during his private meeting, nor would he volunteer such information to them. Though they were fully grown and of marriageable age, they were to be seen and not heard.  
Being the youngest daughter, she had the least right to inquire into his business affairs. Yet it would be unfair for him to bear the burden alone. He no longer had a wife to lean upon or to glean counsel from. Belle did what she could to fill in for her Mother’s absence. She must offer up some kind of wisdom, for his sake at least. He couldn’t be left to face this alone.

“Father,” Belle knelt at his side and placed her hand on his fleshy forearm. “Is it really as bad as what Mr. Gold made it out to be?”

The rims of Father’s eyes were pink. Whilst only a farmer, he acted the part of a proper Englishman. Therefore he was never one to publically show emotion. It must be grave, indeed, if he had shed any tears in his library and then appeared before them in such a manner. 

“Every bit and then some.” He dipped his head, unable to meet her gaze. “I can no longer hide the unfortunate truth from you girls. Our crops have failed the last three years in a row and your mother’s illness and funeral-”

“Don’t speak of it if it pains you so.” Eloise said. 

Patricia took a step forward, her hands clasped. “Perhaps borrowing money from someone else to pay off our current debt is the answer!”

“Nonsense! No one around here has that kind of money.” Eloise argued. “Mr. Gold knows that and has us backed into a corner.”

“Well, Belle already has successfully set her cap at Gaston Harcourt, lucky girl. You and I could find husbands and then Father won’t have to worry about us.” Patricia clapped her hands gleefully. 

Eloise squealed her enthusiasm. 

Belle covered one of her ears, unable believe what she was hearing. After losing their mother such a short time ago and experience deep, agonizing pain, she couldn’t comprehend how her sisters could be eager to leave home. Not only that, they were willing to abandon their last living parent. What would become of their poor Father? Her sisters would hardly welcome him to live with them and their hypothetical husbands. If he did lose the house and the farm, he would have no place to turn to. 

“We cannot abandon Father now; we are the ones who contributed to the problem. We should persuade Mr. Gold that we are trustworthy. The three of us can find suitable occupations and then we can reimburse him.” She insisted, knowing that her ideas would be met with wild opposition. “That is the most logical and responsible thing to do.”

“Us? Work? You cannot be serious.” Eloise’s peach lips were agape. 

Belle rose to her full height. “I am. We could be governesses or do fine sewing or take in laundry, or become companions to nice older ladies. Those are all very appropriate occupations. There would be very little scandal at all.” She continued, her fortitude strengthening. “Our closest friends and acquaintances would more than understand. This is what Mother would want us to do.”

“Oh, Father!” Patricia wailed and was inconsolable. Eloise dissolved into tears and there was no doubt that the cook could hear their sniveling whimpers all the way in the kitchen.

Ladies did not work. While she and her sisters would hardly be categorized as genteel ladies, since they were the daughters of a mere farmer, other than a few simple chores, they had never lifted a finger. Her Father made their lives quite comfortable. He had enough proper pride that he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing them labor. It was only after her Mother’s death that Belle came to the realization that the life they had always known would not last forever. Father and Mother’s union only produced three daughters. Without a direct heir, some distant cousin would inherit the land…if Mr. Gold didn’t lay claim to it first. With Father three score years old and no farmhands to be had, their home and the land had begun to fall down around them. 

Dear Father. Belle sighed. Thinning white tufts of hair arched across one side of his crown to the other. His skin was beginning to sag and he was a fraction paler than he was the year before. His expanding abdomen was like that of a woman expecting a child, round and swollen. He had gotten old and I hadn’t noticed. 

Lord have mercy, she had been so engrossed in her own agony that she neglected to notice his. Mourning had aged him prematurely and there would be no reversing the affects. Now that his helpmate was gone, he would spend the rest of his life grieving for her.

“Now, now. There is no need for tears.” Father cooed the two older girls, as if they were mere babes. Yet they did not hear his words and continued to senselessly squall. If only he had a shiny object in his hand, he might have been able to distract them. “Belle, those are very excellent ideas, but I’m afraid my debt is too great. We must prepare ourselves for the worst. Our home and land shall be lost to us forever.”

Belle’s heart began to palpitate. Perspiration prickled her hair line. “Surely something can be done.” 

“None of it matters. As long as we are together, we can take a smaller home and live there quite happily.” Father managed a smile, albeit a weak one, solely for their benefit. “Now, let us read the Scriptures. That ought to give us comfort.”

Eloise had calmed down enough to turn to where they left off. Her sister’s clear voice faded as Belle’s mind wandered. Though Father seemed without hope, there must be something that he overlooked. He was not a man accustomed to keeping accounts, therefore perhaps he didn’t fully appreciate the loaned he had worked out.

God in Heaven, we cannot lose our home! She quietly begged the Lord to rescue them, or at least tell her what needed to be done. 

For a brief moment, Belle considered accepting Gaston Harcourt’s proposal but quickly thought better of it. She had known him since her girlhood and for a long while she thought of him as nothing more than an old family friend. Well, for a very short period she envisioned him as the hero in a few of her books and possibly a potential husband, but Mother’s death changed all of her romantic sensibilities. Why, they all knew him so well that they occasionally disregarded society’s rules and referred to him by his Christian name. Yet despite his connection to her family, she wasn’t in love with him.

If she ever did marry, it would have to be to someone she loved. There would be no exceptions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The volume of Cowper that Belle was reading is a reference to William Cowper (1731-1800), the English poet and hymnodist. 
> 
> Adam (a.k.a. Mr. Gold/the Beast) is named after the Beast in Disney's "Beauty and the Beast." Though never mentioned in the movie, his name is proportedly Adam. 
> 
> Adam's suggesting about Maurice drowning some of his children at birth, was inspired by a piece of Mr. Bennet's dialog in the 1940 version of "Pride and Prejudice," staring Greer Garson and Laurence Olivier. I can so see Rumple/Mr. Gold sneering this at someone.
> 
> Mrs. French's (a.k.a. Colette) piece of advice, “There is a little good in everyone. Sometimes you just need a pick and a shovel to dig down deep and find it," was actually something my great-grandmother used to say.
> 
> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/124496161229/dark-night-of-the-soul-chapter-one


	2. Chapter 2

Adam stepped through the front door of his rather large estate, the Dark Castle, carelessly shed his overcoat and flung it across the table in the foyer. The housekeeper or the butler would store it away properly later. He made his way to his library, his cane clicking on the black and white checkered floor. He could hear the housekeeper shuffling closer as he slid into his desk chair. Her exuberance often provided him with a chuckle.

A small pile of correspondence awaited him. Peeling back the wax seal of the first one, he was fully engrossed by the time Mrs. Potts appeared in front of his desk. She pestered him with customary questions about the meal and various other matters and he answered them absentmindedly. Even after the woman had her answers, she would press him for conversation. One-worded replies were never enough for her. For whatever reason, she liked to talk with him.

“Well?” Mrs. Potts looked at him expectantly. 

Her change in tone caught his attention. Though she was nothing more than a servant, she often overstepped her bounds. In return, he was testier than what an employer ought to be. Somehow it even out in the end.

He set the letter aside and looked up. “Well, what?”

“Did Mr. French pay what he owed you?”

“No, of course not. And he won’t.” He picked up the second missive and tore into it. “Those kinds never do. He expects to be able to liberally borrow from me without any thought to remuneration.”

“I’m sure that is not what he intended. Mr. French is a fine, good man; he lost his wife about a year ago and has three single daughters to support.” Mrs. Potts clasped her small, stubby hands together. “That cannot be an easy task.”

Mr. French was not the first man – good or not- to fail to pay on a loan. However, for reasons unbeknownst to Adam, Mrs. Potts had taken a keen interest in the chap and his litter of females. To the best of his knowledge, she had never been formally introduced to them nor did she attend their church. The only plausible conclusion that Adam could come up with was that with Mr. French now being single, past the official mourning stage and near her age, she was pursuing him. Though that didn’t make much sense either; she had never chased after a man before. His housekeeper was the kind of woman content with her lot, however dismal it may be. 

“The point being?” Adam said. 

“Would it hurt to cancel a debt this one time? Perhaps showing them a little charity will make a world of difference. It would ease your conscience.”

“Why would I do a thing like that? I’m not charitable. They have a week, then their land is officially mine. Besides, my conscience never bothers me.” A small whisper hissed in the shell of his ear that he wasn’t being wholly honest. His conscience did affect him from time to time, though it rarely had to do with business affairs. 

Adam kept his countenance emotionless. He would not allow the pleas of his housekeeper or anyone else for that matter to prevent him from claiming what was rightfully his. People often used whatever means available to try and change his mind; that included using their children as pawns. To him there was nothing more distasteful than parents who used their own children to their advantage. 

“You are only delaying the inevitable and that is cruel.” Mrs. Potts persisted. Though short and round, she was standing tall and was not about to back down. Her delicate blue eyes watched his every movement while the rims of her ears reddened. 

Most housekeepers knew their place and would never entertain the thought of questioning the master of the house. However Mrs. Potts had been in his employ for over a decade. In many ways she was a maternal figure to him, though he would never admit that to her. That would give her the upper hand. She had seen him at his worst and no matter how beastly he behaved, she didn’t abandon him. Why she stayed was beyond him. For the most part, he did appreciate her scruples and admired her for them. Considering the rest of the county was familiar with him and gave him a wide berth, she was probably the only one who could stand working for him. Yet the divide between employer and servant prevented him from calling her his friend.

Adam realized that a minute of silence had lapsed and Mrs. Potts was waiting for him to respond. 

“Well, they don’t call me the Beast for nothing.” Before she could answer, he ordered, “Cancel the meal. I’m not hungry; I am going for a walk.” He pushed himself up, grabbed his cane and left without informing her of where he was heading. There was a good chance that she already knew.

He pulled his overcoat back on and took his time down the road, which broke off to a manmade lane into the wood. He followed it until he reached an opening and a small cliff. 

The ground below wasn’t too far down, though the drop would be enough for the impact to kill. The rocks were jagged like teeth and the mouth of the formation could easily swallow him up. Countless times in the past three years he had considered hurling himself over. Yet something, whatever it was, compelled him not to. Perhaps it was the good memories that he had of this special place that prevented him from acting out on his dark thoughts. 

Were he to actually kill himself, no one would miss him. Mrs. Potts might care a little but it wouldn’t take her long to get over her grief and find a new position. The other servants would find new employment. The castle and the entailment would pass on to the next hair. Whether he lived or died, the world would continue on as it always had.

Enough of that. He shook his head, hoping to shake off such musings. 

Adam lifted his eyes from the jagged rocks. The sun was descending, melting into the pale blue sky. Pink outlined fluffy purple, low hanging clouds. He watched the sunset for a couple of minutes before turning around and sitting on a tree stump. He placed his elbow on one knee and set his chin in his open palm. 

The big cross and the small cross were beginning to look shabby. They should have lasted longer, being only three years old, but the rains caused the grain of the wood to grow stringy. New ones would have to be fashioned and the old disposed of. Well, maybe not disposed of. The thought of throwing out the original crosses didn’t set well with him. He could put them somewhere safe and preserve them.

He had cared about the one who had the bigger cross, but it was the one who had the small cross that he loved with every fiber of his being. 

Adam noticed the fingers of his other hand were wrapped around the handle of his cane. Being lame used to bother him when he was younger. Now he thought nothing of it, except when an old memory of his son trying to use his walking stick surfaced. The sight of the little lad hobbling around with an object taller than he was, warmed Adam’s heart to this very day.

“Papa still uses his cane, laddie.” He made a tight smile, shaking it towards the smaller cross. 

His son, Bae, died young. Children who preceded their parents in death were always too young to die. When Adam closed his eyes and sat perfectly still, could hear Bae’s impish giggle. For the longest time the boy didn’t understand why his father needed a cane and believed that the stick was following them around. As a joke, he nicknamed his cane “Dog.” His son loved that and rolled on the floor laughing. From that point on, they called it, “Dog.”

Adam shook his head and dropped his head into his hands. “I miss you, Bae, more than you can imagine. You were the sun of my life. I’ll always love you.” He closed his eyes and heard himself say aloud. “Why? I don’t understand. Why?” Whether he was talking to the graves, to the universe, or to himself, he didn’t know. He had to purge his soul of these feelings before he drowned in them. Tears smarted his eyes. 

As he was leaving, he plucked up the two crumbling crosses and carried them back to the Dark Castle.

#

Belle raised her skirt as she walked around the mud puddle and advanced towards the Nolan’s shop. The basket on her arm dangled from her bent elbow. She hadn’t planned on buying anything other than the essentials and then remembered that some weeks prior, she had ordered a new book. Everyone raved about it that she had begun to look forward to it. Mrs. Nolan had sent a note informing her that it was waiting for her. The news of her family’s financial difficulties put a damper on her spirits. In their present circumstances, it was not practical to waste money on a book.

As she opened the door to the shop, the bell on the frame announced her entrance. The owner waved and continued his conversation with his current customer. 

Belle picked up a small bottle of ink and paper and waited until it was her turn at the counter. The ink and paper was for letters, to inquire after possible companion or governess positions. There were a few possibilities in the advertisements in the newspaper, The Mirror. Though she loathed the thought of having to leave her childhood home, she would do it out of love for her family. 

Mr. Nolan, a tall, golden haired man with a chiseled chin, greeted her, beaming. “Good morning, Miss French. I trust you found everything.” He crouched down behind the counter to retrieve a package. “The book you ordered last month has come in. ‘Pride and Prejudice.’ I have heard it is popular amongst the ladies.” 

Belle had heard a vast deal about the misadventures of feisty Elizabeth Bennet and the arrogant Mr. Darcy, and wanted nothing more than to devour the story. Nothing was more delicious to her than a good book. There was nothing superior than to open a newly bound volume, containing crisp beige pages that smelled of fresh ink. For her, a farmer’s daughter, a novel was her only key to adventure. It was her sole avenue of escaping the cruel realities of life. In all likelihood she would live and die in Ashby, without ever setting foot into the outside world.

However, while a book could nourish her mind and soul, it would do little for her or her family’s stomachs. One could not eat a book, no matter how many times she was called a bookworm. In the long run, it could be used for kindling, but such an act against the written word had to be an abomination. 

Mrs. Nolan traipsed in from the store rooms of the shop, new muslin fabrics draped over her shapely arms. She laid them out on the counter, as though to try and tempt Belle into buying one. After all, who could resist a pretty new frock? It had been ages since she had a new dress. Still that was of little importance. Were she to choose between a book and a muslin, the book would always win out. Always.

The woman pursed her lips, which made her look as though she had sucked on a lemon. “From what I hear, all the ladies are pining for their very own Mr. Darcy. I do believe Miss French has already found hers. Mr. Harcourt is over yonder, peering through the window, pining after you.” She jutted her round chin towards the front of the store.

Belle didn’t bother to look. Gaston Harcourt would have only perceived it as encouragement. She felt Gaston’s piercing blue eyes upon her and supposed that he had been watching her for some time. To compare Gaston to any great literary hero was tantamount to blasphemy. He had no concept of her love for books. 

Only a few weeks ago she had buried herself in “The Female Quixote” and was lost in the adventures of Arabella, whose name she greatly appreciated. 

_Belle was sitting beneath her favorite maple tree, in the midst of the titillating tale, when Gaston sauntered past. In one quick swipe, he snatched the book out of her hands._

_“Gaston, may I have my book, please?” She stood, grabbing for it._

_“How can you read this?” Gaston held it out of her reach and skimmed through the pages. He made a face and grunted. “There's no pictures!”  
_

_Belle grimaced at the rough handling of her novel. “Well, some people use their imaginations.”_

_Gaston snorted. “Belle, it's about time you got your head out of those books and paid attention to more important things...like me!” Whether he was serious or making a joke, she couldn’t tell. She was too distracted by the fact that he had tossed her book carelessly over his shoulder. It landed in a soupy puddle. “The whole town's talking about it.”_

_Belle went around him and retrieved “The Female Quixote” from the mud. She used her hanky to clean it up, barely hearing Gaston as he continued to prattle on.  
“It's not right for a woman to read--soon she starts getting ideas...and thinking.” _

_Thankfully her novel was not ruined and could be salvaged once it dried out. “Gaston, you are positively primeval.”_

_“Why thank you, Belle.” He grinned, his ego stoked._

_Such a memory made her cringe. There was no way she could possibly spend the rest of her life with a man who had so little respect for her love for the written word._

Belle cleared her throat, “From what I hear, the one spectacular thing about Mr. Darcy is that though he is fictional, he is the ideal man. No man can ever come close.” 

“Oh my.” Mrs. Nolan sniffed. “Well, at least you will be entering the marriage state with your eyes opened.”

The Nolan’s exchanged a light hearted laugh, unaware of her unease. 

She took a deep breath and begged from strength from Above. “Mr. Nolan, I am afraid I can’t purchase the book after all. We haven’t the means at the moment. Please forgive me for troubling you about it.” 

It was mortifying to publically confess her poverty, especially to this haughty couple, but she figured that she may as well grow accustomed to it. Gone were the days of leisure and comfort. She would soon have to look for respectable employment. That would only make gossipy tongues wag wildly.

The proprietress arched one of her dark brows. Had she been the sole one minding the store, she would have demanded payment no matter what. Thankfully her husband was present. He was known to have a gentler heart. 

Mr. Nolan sent her a pitying glance. “That is quite all right. Look, I will hold onto it and perhaps you can purchase it at a later date.” He took the package and placed it on a high shelf behind him.

Belle bowed her head in gratitude. “Thank you.”

She paid for the items that she needed, bid the Nolan’s a good day and briskly left the shop to avoid further embarrassment. For a second, she felt a sense of relief.

That was until she heard Gaston’s mighty baritone ring out to her. He clamored over to her, his heavy Hessian boots thudding on the wooden walkway. “Belle, wait!” 

She winced as he used her Christian name. It was fine in private settings, since he was an old family friend. Yet for all Ashby to hear, was humiliating. He was showing disrespect and implying a shared intimacy between them that did not exist. 

“I heard about your father’s predicament.” He said when he caught up to her.

She was thankful for the large rim of her bonnet. It blocked her view if those that were watching. “From whom?”

 

“From your father, of course.” Taking a step closer, he whispered. “I can pay off his debt and then we can wed.” 

Her skin warmed. “How dare you! You think that you can buy me?” She swatted him from her, using her basket. “I am not a harlot, I am not for sale. Neither is my love.”

“That is not what I meant.” His strong jaw started to turn red and he demanded, “Do you even care for me a little? Your father looks favorably upon our match. He gave us his blessing.” 

“Well, I did not give mine. Nor am I inclined to.” Belle said. Gaston was about to plead his case once more when she ordered, “Leave me be.”

She hurried from him before much more of a scene could be made. The thought occurred to her that a scene was precisely what Gaston wanted. He likely figured that she wouldn’t make a fuss if everyone was watching. How wrong he had been.

In Ashby and for most of Hampshire, every family he called on and in every establishment he entered, Gaston was hailed as a great catch. After his service in the navy and reaching the rank of captain, he made his fortune. He soon forsook that occupation and entered the class of landed gentry. He was now officially a gentleman with a fine house and a decent piece of land. With all of those positive qualities, it was no wonder to her that her Father smiled upon an attachment between her and Gaston. He was everything most girls would desire and then some. 

A shock of thick, black hair shrouded his handsomely formed face. His striking cobalt blue eyes, shiny white teeth combined with a strong jaw would make any girl weak at the knees. In fact, many a girl yearned for him. He was tall; his bounding muscles clearly stretched out the material of his white shirt. In addition to his many virtues, he had a charming personality. He could laugh and tease and flirt with the best of them. To many he was the ideal; he was the ultimate Mr. Darcy. 

What else could a girl, in a desperate situation as hers, ask for? 

Belle squeezed her eyes shut. “What is the matter with me?” 

While Gaston professed to love her, she did not reciprocate his affections. Perhaps she was too romantic, but if love was not present, she could not and would not marry. The thought of sharing her life and a bed with a man she did not love sickened her. 

In all likelihood, Father considered Gaston Harcourt the answer to his prayers. Perhaps he only wanted the best for her and thought arranging an advantageous marriage for her was his way of taking care of her. What didn’t make sense to her was that he didn’t trouble with her sisters and their prospects.

Belle picked up her feet. She had to speak to Father immediately before he made any rash decisions. She believed in whole heartedly obeying her Father; therefore she had to convince him not to promise her to Gaston. 

“I won’t do it.” She declared. “No one can make me.”

At least she hoped that was true. 

Belle found herself wishing that her Mother was there. Mother would not force her against her will. 

#

From his library, Adam heard the front door open and close. Assuming that it was Mrs. Potts, he paid no mind until a large shadow darkened the papers on his desk. Glancing up, he was surprised to find Maurice French standing before him, hat in hand. 

Adam leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. French? May I safely assume that this is not a social call?” 

Maurice took a handkerchief out of his pocket, shook it open and swiped his sweaty forehead. “I cannot repay your loan, Mr. Gold.” He panted. 

“How very shocking.” He studied the man and soon noticed that other than hat and handkerchief, the fellow carried nothing else. “Then where is the deed to your house and land?”

“I have something more lucrative to offer you.” Maurice paused, for what Adam considered an inconvenient amount of time. It was as though the man wanted to build a certain amount of suspense. “Myself. Rumor has it that you are involved with the slave trade and that your slaves work on many of your plantations in India. So, I know for a fact it does not bother you to own a human being. In the Former Colonies, there is a practice called ‘indentured servitude.’ Are you familiar with it? A man can promise himself to another, to work off a debt, for a certain period of time. I will indenture myself to you and repay my debt.”

Adam wanted nothing more than to laugh in this man’s face, but he was enjoying this charade far too much. How old was that slave trade and Indian plantation rumor now? Ten or fifteen years old, perhaps. While he thought it was below him to dignify a response and correct anyone, he always thought it comical that though folks never offered up any solid evidence, they condemned him and announced that he was as guilty as sin.

“How will that benefit me? You are ancient; you have what, five years left? You will die off before the principle is touched.” Such pettiness set his teeth on edge. Perhaps this old fool thought if he offered himself up, as old as he was, he might solicit pity. “I want your property and nothing else. Nothing else will do.” He pointed. 

“I can’t do that. My daughters have to have a place to live. Where are they to go if I give you my property?” Mr. French dropped to his knees and began to openly cry. His words were garbled by sobs. “Please, I know you don’t have children-”

“Do not use your children to make me feel guilt.” Adam hated to see this man cry. He didn’t feel sorry for him per se, yet to watch this old man blubber churned his stomach. The way he was behaving was grotesque. “Since you have given me no other alternative, I will accept your ludicrous proposition. I am familiar with the practice in the Former Colonies.” He pulled out a stack of paper from the top drawer and started to write out a contract. “Permit me to draw up the necessary paperwork while you muck out my horse stalls. The stable boy will show you how I like to have it done.”

“C-can I not g-go home and…and say good-bye to my d-daughters?” Mr. French sputtered, his tears beginning to cease.

“No. You are mine now.” Adam dismissed the man with a wave. “Now, go shovel some manure. Go on.”

The older man slowly sauntered out of the library, dragging his feet, as though he were on his way to his execution. 

Until he could speak with his attorney directly and start legal proceedings to attain the French property, Adam decided that he would play along with this insane game. It was nothing more than another one of Maurice’s pathetic ploys to avoid taking responsibility. When Maurice French realized that he had called his bluff, he would give up and turn over his land. It would only be a matter of time. How much pressure could Maurice handle?

At the very least, the little stable boy would appreciate the extra help and Maurice would think twice before agreeing to a deal that he could not fulfill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The term "The Beast," is a phrase from the Book of Revelation, from the Bible, regarding the devil. Since religion and church played a big part in Regency life, I figured it would make sense for those who hated Adam and thought him evil incarnate, would give him that name. It also ties in with Disney's "Beauty and the Beast," whose hero was solely known as Beast. 
> 
> The nickname "Dog" for Adam's cane, came from my Grandma. After she broke her hip, she had to use a cane and called it "Dog" because followed her wherever she went. She had a good sense of humor.
> 
> The book Belle orders is "Pride and Prejudice," by Jane Austen. However when it was published, the author remained anonymous, being referred to as "A Lady." The book features two of the most memorable characters in all of English literature: Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy. Lizzie and Darcy don't get along in the beginning either, which parallels well with my fanfic. 
> 
> The other book referenced is "The Female Quixote," by Charlotte Lennox. The heroine is named Arabella and the book paraodies Miguel de Cervantes' "Don Quixote." Belle really likes Arabella as a name.
> 
> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/125163840929/dark-night-of-the-soul-chapter-two


	3. Chapter 3

Belle dashed into their house and left the door hanging wide open as she called out, “Father? Father, how could you?” When he did not emerge from his library, she charged through from the foyer and into the kitchen, dropping the basket somewhere along the way. “I am not a disposable piece of property that you can trade off. I am a human being, with a heart and a soul. I can make my own choices-”

The only response she received was the echo of her own voice ricocheting off the walls. Father might be out in the fields working, yet that morning he had attired himself in his finer clothes, reserved for paying calls. He wouldn’t chance ruining a white dress shirt, a black pair of pantaloons and a waistcoat by trudging through the muck and mire. Not when the cost of clothing became dearer every year.

Two small mewling cries beckoned her into the parlor, where she found her sisters on the settee, sniveling into their embroidered hankies. The last time she had seen them that devastated was when Mother had died. 

Belle pressed her hand to her chest as panic seized her. “What happened? Where is Father?” 

A thousand different frightening thoughts raced through her mind. Her Father was of mature years; perhaps he suffered an apoplexy or his heart failed! How would she bear the death her last surviving parent? Such a grave loss would crush her spirit. Would she even be able to rally her strength to face life without him? Or would she drop into another deep depression?

Eloise composed herself enough to muster: “Father went to speak to Mr. Gold, to inform him that he does not have the money.”

“Oh, Belle, he is going to oppose Mr. Gold and be killed in a duel!” Patricia wailed, shaking her wet hanky near her face. “What will become of us all? Why, we will be alone and starve to death!” Heaving sobs seized her once more. 

“A duel? Nonsense.” Belle sighed. 

Had the situation not been so grave, she would have laughed at their hysterics. The way her sisters acted were often too funny for words. They were more like children than fully grown women. In fact, they seemed more distraught now than when they lost their Mother. More concerned on who would take care of them rather than for Father’s wellbeing. 

“Father abhors violence. Besides, it is illegal.” She assured them. 

What she didn’t tell them and kept to herself was that men often took the law into their own hands and waged duels regardless of what morality dictated. Mr. Gold would be the sort to result to that, however, her Father was too meek for that kind of confrontation. The former would likely use pistols rather than swords, considering his limitations. 

Eloise paused. “He did say something about indenturing himself to that Beast.”

“What does that mean?” Patricia asked and Eloise merely shrugged. 

Though her sisters were ignorant of the word, she was not. “Servitude?” She shook her head in disbelief. “English law does not permit such institutions. You must have misunderstood.”

“No, that was the word he used.” Eloise insisted. “He had been reading the book that we have about America the other evening and said that the class system there might be the answer to his prayers. Besides, everyone knows that Mr. Gold owns slaves in India; that is where his wealth comes from.”

Belle rubbed her forehead, sensing that a headache was coming on. Her knowledge of life in America was limited at best, but one thing she had heard was that some Americans in debt or desperate to live in that country, signed binding papers that promised themselves to work for another until they worked their debt off. England had done away with such practices long ago therefore it would never work. As a man of mature years, her Father had to be aware of this.

“What could Father be thinking?” She asked. 

Eloise and Patricia stared at her, their expressions vacant. Neither had the intelligence to come up with a solution and soon resumed their inconsolable weeping. 

Belle was about to leave the parlor when Patricia said, “Where are you going?”

“Where do you think? I have to stop him.” She said. 

Neither of her sisters followed, preferring her to make things right. They were as helpless as newborn kittens.

Belle rushed for the door but slowed when she saw her Bible laying on the table by the looking glass. She grabbed it and held it close as she departed. If she couldn’t convince Father of how ridiculous his idea was, she could perhaps show Mr. Gold the error of his ways. When confronted with the Holy Scriptures, he would have to admit to how wrong he was. No one could argue with that. With some gentle persuasion, he would come to the realization that to show mercy would be the kind thing to do. 

She had never been to the illusive Mr. Gold’s home, nor did she stray in that area, though she had heard enough about it and had the general idea of where it was located. Following the moist, winding road for two miles, she reached his overwhelming gothic castle, known far and wide as the Dark Castle. The structure loomed above, like a fierce, menacing giant primed to smash anything in its path. She half-expected a fire-breathing dragon to crawl out and devour her. There were other castles in the outskirts of Ashby, ones so pristine that they resembled museums rather than homes. This one was cold; like a body without a soul. Perhaps it felt that way because it took after its master.

Belle grasped the knocker and rapped it against the door. She hoped she could find Father and convince him to come home without having to converse with that odious Scotsman.  
After the butler answered, a woman wearing a plain cream housekeeper’s frock greeted her. The woman’s brow furrowed. “Yes, darling? How may I help you?”

“My name is Belle French. I am here in regards to my father, Maurice. Do you know if he is here? If so, please, may I see him?”

Her soft eyes looked at her sorrowfully and she gave a slight shake of her white head. “Miss French, it is better that you go and never look back. Your father, he made this great sacrifice for you. Let it not be in vain.” A wave of compassion washed over her and he touched Belle’s forearm. “Go while you still can.”

“No, I can’t do that.” She said, pressing her Bible closer. “I won’t leave him.”

The door was jerked open further and the man of the house stepped out from the shadows. The housekeeper scurried aside.

Mr. Gold’s thin lips pressed together in a grimacing line. “What do you want? My abode is not place for a social gathering.” He gestured for the housekeeper to go. The woman cowered back inside. “Go on back to your little farm-” 

“Did my father sign himself over to you?” Belle asked. She stood stock still to prevent herself from tremoring. Or taking a step or two back.

“Not yet-”

“Then nothing has been settled. Where is he? I am not leaving without him.”

“He is not leaving at all. He made his bed and now he has to lie in it.” His words, devoid of human emotion, sent shivers down her spine. His expression never changed. He was like his castle; a body without a soul. 

“Why are you doing this? It won’t hurt you to show compassion to an older man.” 

“It would hurt my reputation. People would view me as weak.”

“Nonsense.” Her throat began to tighten and she knew that she was on the verge of tears. She blinked them back. If he thought compassion was a weakness, then tears would also be considered a flaw. “Kindness would only humanize you.”

Mr. Gold rolled his eyes. He was not about to be moved. Not by pleas, or logic, or sarcasm. 

The Bible felt heavy in her arms, as though it weighed as much as boulder. It was foolish to have brought it. No amount of Scriptures or prayers would affect him. His heart could not be easily touched, that is if he had a heart at all. If he did, it was likely black through and through. 

“Belle?” A wizened voice said. 

Turning around, Belle’s spirits sank. 

Dust and dirt had sunk into the creases of Father’s winkled face. His white dress skirt was soiled in sweat and one of the sleeves was torn at the seam and dangled at the elbow. A bellowing cough rattled from his throat. His breathing was then labored and his hulking figure was about to collapse. Aside from when her Mother died, she had never seen his spirit so crushed. How could Mr. Gold relish in another’s suffering?

“I thought I saw you.” Father said between pants. “Belle, what are you doing here?”

She rushed to him, grasping his cracked, bloody hands. “We are leaving.” Withdrawing a handkerchief from her sleeve, she wound it around his stained fingers. “Come along-”

“He is not going anywhere, Miss French.” Mr. Gold interrupted. “If he backs out of our little agreement, I will have him arrested and thrown into debtor’s prison. And the rest of you can go to the workhouse. Or you can give me what I really want: the land. Those are your options.”

For once, her Mother was wrong and her feckless sisters were right. Mr. Gold truly was a beast. There was no good in this man. No amount of digging would unearth a shred of decency. Surely Mr. Gold could see that her Father was not capable of such strenuous work. While Father was a farmer, he had slowed down and wasn’t able to keep up with the demands of the land, which perhaps was the reason that their crops were failing and everything was in ruins. Further harsh treatment would lead to an early grave. 

“You really are as dark as they say you are.” She asked. “How can you be so cruel to a fellow human being?”

“Darker, dearie, much darker. And I find it tolerably easy.” He said. “I am immune to admonitions, Miss French. So keep your breath to cool your porridge.” 

Were Mother alive, she knew precisely what the woman would say; Do the brave thing and bravery will follow.

Therefore she had only one choice. “There is a third alternative. I will work here in my Father’s stead.” Belle suggested.

Mr. Gold’s mouth slacked open. “What?”

“You heard me. I will indenture myself to you if you release my Father.” 

“Belle, stop! You can’t do this, you cannot go with this Beast! Listen to me. I’m old, I’ve lived my life.” Father shook his head. He addressed Mr. Gold. “My daughter doesn’t know what she is saying, she is a silly girl. You can’t take her words to heart, Gold. Please, spare my daughter!”

She half-expected Mr. Gold to refuse and to her astonishment he didn’t. He was dumbstruck by what had occurred. At last something quieted him. 

“No one decides my fate but me. It has been decided.” Belle drew Father a few feet off, until they were out of an earshot of the other man. “Don’t you see? This is England; indentured servitude is illegal here. When the law finds out what he is doing, they will arrest him. Our deal will be null and void. Our home and land and family will be safe from his clutches!”

“No, it is not seemly for you to live with this libertine outside of wedlock.” Father grimaced at the gentleman. He then reminded her, his words full of hope, “I have arranged for you to marry Gaston Harcourt; then you will be spared from this. You won’t have to suffer for my mistakes.”

Belle’s eyes widened. What Gaston had said was true. A small part of her had held out hope that that he had been mistaken or that he had been lying to her. But Father had wanted her wedded and had sealed the deal without so much as consulting her. She wasn’t naïve; other girls married out of convenience. Her sisters would welcome such an arrangement. 

It was only as of late that the notion of love and romance as the basis for a marriage had surfaced. True love had become the fashion. 

Yet she could not envision herself as Gaston’s wife. Unless she received a sign from heaven itself, she would not marry the man, whether it made things easier or not. 

She walked quietly towards the building and to the man of the house. “Where are the papers?”

“In my library.” Mr. Gold answered.

“Show me.” She demanded. 

“This is for forever, dearie.” 

“Forever. You have my word.” Belle said. 

“Then you have mine.” Mr. Gold stepped aside for her to pass over the threshold first and then led her to a large, airy room, filled from floor to ceiling with books.  
Were it any person’s other library, she would bask in the majesty of the room and beg to explore it every nook and cranny of it. Instead she kept her face pointed straight ahead to avoid losing herself in those beauties. 

For a brief second, it dawned on her that she should stop and reconsider. Usually when she had a decision of this magnitude to make, she would give the concern a great deal of reflection. There was no time for that, not with this man threatening to take away their home and Father forcing her into a marriage with a man that she did not love. A decision had to be made instantly. She could only hope that the price would not be too great for her to bear.

Belle took the papers Mr. Gold had informally drawn up, scratched out her Father’s name and inscribed her own at the top. After perusing the details of document, she dipped the pen and scribbled her name at the bottom of the page.  
Feeling as though she were signing her soul over to the devil, she was surprised that the Beast was not asking for her to use her own blood.

Father was in the doorway, covering his mouth with his tattered yellow sleeve. “My darling, what have you done?” His eyes glistened. “You have ruined your life.”

Mr. Gold said, “You may go now, Mr. French.”

“No! I am going to say goodbye to my Father.” Belle declared and then said pointedly, “Alone.”

Redness flushed across Mr. Gold’s high cheekbones. Yet he was too dumbfounded by her opposition to him that he forfeited the privacy of his library to her. The man limped to the hallway. 

Father rested his hands on her shoulders. “Why did you do that? Gaston Harcourt would have protected you.” 

“I don’t want to marry Mr. Harcourt. I’m not in love with him. I love you Father, but as I said, no one decides my fate but me.” Belle said and planted a kiss to his warm, dusty cheek. 

“I will not give up. God be with you.” Father leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead. Unable to look at her a second longer, he parted from her and ambled out of the room, and out of her life. 

Will I ever see him again? Belle wondered to herself. Home wasn’t more than two miles off, however, she doubted her new employer would permit her to visit her loved ones. If he had no empathy for Father, Mr. Gold certainly wouldn’t have any for her. Especially after she opposed him numerous times.

What was she thinking, offering to work for this Beast? After all the trouble he caused, how could she bear living under the same roof as him, let alone serve him? In all of her twenty years, she hadn’t been away from home or her family for more than a day at a time. As much as Father owed Mr. Gold, if English law did not prevail, she would be living in this dark place for the rest of her life. Still she preferred working as a maid and living in an unhappy place to marrying a man she did not love. 

Belle sniffed but refused to let the tears fall. The man of the house would be back at any moment. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her cry. 

#

Adam was pacing the length of the hallway, cursing to himself over the absurdity of it all. 

Mrs. Potts crossed her arms across her paunchy stomach, then clucked her tongue at him. “Look at the turmoil you have caused, Mr. Gold. You have torn this family apart.” She said, “Not only that, a single girl of her station cannot live under your roof unchaperoned. She will lose her character.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Do you actually believe that I wanted this to happen? Possessing their farm would have made me more than happy.” He snorted. Reputations and the opinions of others meant little to him. He never cared about what others thought of him, therefore what did some girl’s reputation matter? “It’s not as though I want to own one of them. They came up with that harebrained scheme on their own. The French’s are attempting to challenge me. Well, they will find out who the victor is.”

“Have you no soul?” Her lips curled in disgust. 

“No, I suppose not. I must have been born without one.” He said. 

People did what they could to play on his heartstrings. He was used to it and never let them manipulate him. He never made a deal without thinking it through. Having Maurice work off his debt was not what he wanted, but he figured after a few days of hard labor, the old man would buckle under and give him what was due him: the land. Yet when Belle – or Miss French- offered to step in and replaced her father, he froze. He should have put a stop to it right then and there. Instead he stood there like a fool and watched her sign her life away to him. For the life of him, he didn’t know what it was about this girl but he had been struck by her willingness to sacrifice herself.

Maurice French barged out of the library and over to him, his index finger pointed. The man’s chest puffed out. “I swear, if you hurt my daughter, I will follow you to the ends of the earth-”

“Mr. French, I will show your daughter the utmost respect.” Adam pursed his lips. The last thing he wanted to do was meddle with some bothersome little chit. Especially one that had to argue with him about everything. “You have my word.”

“Your word is no good to me.” Marce tightened his meaty fist and raised it. “Your word is a bastard thing! God have mercy on you, because I never will.”

Adam nodded. He would never own up to it, but for a brief second, he feared Maurice French. One should never underestimate the determination of an irate father. However, Adam soon recovered and his opinion of the man lowered farther. 

The man sauntered out, his shoulders drooping in defeat, making no further attempts to argue with him. 

No doubt the man was devastated over leaving his child to an uncertain fate. Any father would be rightly upset. Adam understood what he was feeling in that regard. What he could not comprehend was how a man would so willing leave his child without putting up a real fight. 

Were it my boy, I would fight to the death for him. Adam thought to himself. No force, on heaven or earth, not God nor the devil, would stand in his way. He’d pass through the flames of hell if need be. But Maurice French was a worm of a man who crumbled at the first sight of opposition. In that respect, Maurice deserved the pain that he felt. 

Nor could he understand a father who would drive his child away. Though Adam didn’t know the particulars, he had a good idea what was going on. Maurice was pressuring his daughter into an arranged marriage that she didn’t want. The prospective suitor must have been that dolt who proposed to Belle when she was sitting in that tree and called her a “pigeon.” It was Harcourt, something or other. 

The young lady must have been desperate if she were willing to live in a stranger’s household as a servant rather than be taken care of. 

Mrs. Potts cleared her throat. “You will have to go in there at some point, Mr. Gold.” 

Adam scratched the back of his neck. “I know that.” 

He was dreading setting foot in the library. If only he hadn’t fled; after all it was his room. The girl had no claim to it. No one had crossed him like that before. When the prim Belle French flashed her angry blue eyes at him, he dashed out as fast as his- good and bad- legs could carry him. And now what? He knew nothing of women, not really. Oh sure, he was married before and had a few other dalliances, but Milah had been nothing like the young lady in the library. Other than producing a child, he and Milah lived fairly separate lives, rarely fighting at all. She never set foot in his library and in return he never crossed the threshold of her private sitting room. 

There was no doubt in his mind that Belle French was unlike any other woman of his acquaintance and would fight him tooth and nail every step of the way.

He made his way back to the library and found Belle standing at the window. She was watching her father leave, hugging a black book to her as though it were a protective shield. I ought to say something. He swallowed. Say something, you idiot!

“Um, your father is gone now.” He internally swore at himself for stating the obvious. 

Belle slowly turned around, her sapphire eyes coldly staring straight through him. 

“Are you hungry? I can have Cook make something up.” Adam wanted to hear her speak, even if her words were full of venomous hatred. Anything to know that she was all right. But that accusing stare only made him ramble. “Do you need anything?”

Belle shook her head. “I don’t want anything from you.”

Unable to withstand another moment in her convicting presence, he called for Mrs. Potts. She hustled in, as though she had been ready all along. “Mrs. Potts, will you show Miss French to her room? To the first family guestroom.”

Mrs. Potts nodded and he was grateful that she didn’t question him. The servants were housed upstairs in the attic, but he couldn’t imagine sticking Belle up there. While she would be working for him, he couldn’t envision her as a servant. 

Mrs. Potts brought her arm around the younger woman’s shoulders and patted her hand. “Yes, of course. Come this way, Miss French. Poor darling.” The woman led Belle out. 

Adam picked up the papers and noticed how lovely Belle’s signature was. He folded the sheets and tucked them away in a drawer for safe keeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have only recently learned that the story "Beauty and the Beast," was inspired by tale of Petrus Gonsalvus. Born in 1537, Petrus suffered from hypertrichosis and was considered more beast than man. A wife was selected for him and though she was initially put off by his appearance, Catherine and Petrus became friends and grew to love one another. To read more about their story, go to these links: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Petrus_Gonsalvus and http://talesoffaerie.blogspot.com/2015/06/petrus-and-catherine-gonsalvus.html
> 
> Both Disney's "Beauty and the Beast's" Belle and "Once Upon a Time's" Belle are shown as only children. However in some older tellings of this classic story, the Belle/Beauty character does have two older sisters. When I was writing this as a novel, I gave my Belle character two older sisters but have not decided to adapt them into Once characters. They are known as Eloise and Patricia in this AU. 
> 
> Maurice's insult to Adam, calling his word a "bastard thing," was inspired by one of my favorite period pieces, "Cranford." In it, one of the characters, Miss Galindo calls one man's word a "bastard thing." If you look at the comments on "Dark Night of the Soul," we have all agreed that Adam is a bastard. A magnificent one, but a bastard all the same. It just suited the story.
> 
> Belle's beliefs on marriage and love were relatively modern. In those days it was the social norm for marriage to be arranged, to respectable people of course, and perhaps later on down the line the couple would grow to admire and possibly love one another. The notion of a love marriage had become more popular, partially because of novels. As well know, our Belle loves her books. 
> 
> To those who are Once fans, its obvious that Adam Gold looks like Robert Carlyle and Belle French looks like Emilie de Ravin. In my mind, Mrs. Potts looks like Judi Dench.
> 
> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/125699639104/dark-night-of-the-soul-chapter-three


	4. Chapter 4

Belle and the housekeeper climbed the long, winding flight of stairs that led to an enormous second story. The older woman’s chubby hands on her shoulders tightened, making it feel more like a hug rather than a grasp. Belle’s body began to tremor and giddiness began to set in. If weren’t for the woman next to her, her knees would have buckled and she would have collapsed. Though her companion was quite a bit older and shorter, she was holding her upright. 

_I must get to the room as soon as possible._ She thought when her surroundings started to sway. Another few minutes and she would faint dead away. She could only imagine what the Beast would say about that. 

The housekeeper guided her to the east wing of the castle and down to the far end of the hall. The crimson red carpet beneath her boots felt plush and fresh as new spring grass. She half feared that her muddied boots would spoil it and it would only add to her family’s debt. The cherubic creatures mounted to the mauve walls had their feather wings splayed out. They looked down and their small arms were extended; as though they were guardian angels watching over her. Were she on a tour of this castle, she would marvel in it. Her imagination would run wild and she envision herself as a heroine in one of her books, where there was a mad woman locked away in an attic, a dungeon for torturing, ghouls roaming the halls and demons cursing the poor unsuspecting heroine…And worst of all, a villain so wicked that he was beyond all hope of redemption. There would be no hero on a white horse coming to her rescue.  
But alas, being indentured to the Beast, she could scarcely conjure any romantic notions. Her stay here would not be enjoyable, let alone romantic. 

The woman stopped, unlocked the final door on the left and opened it. “Right in here, darling.” 

Taken aback, Belle had to close her gaping mouth before she let it hang open too long. She half expected a dank, dreary attic bedroom that she would have to share with another servant girl. Instead she was greeted by a bright little room, with white wall paper freckled in small lavender sprigs. A canopy, feathered bed was situated in the middle, cloaked in a quilt. A full-length looking glass stood at one corner beside a bureau. Before the window was a cream window seat decorated by dainty pillows. The view was picturesque, overlooking an unruly flower garden, towering hedgerows, stone statues and a majestic fountain in the middle of it all.

It was the sort of room she had daydreamed of having as a little girl. Instead she had to make do with sharing a room and a bed with two older sisters. This room was fit for a princess. 

Belle inched forward and laid the Bible on the nightstand. “This is not the servants’ quarters.” 

“That is right, miss.” The woman said as cheerfully as she could. “This is one of the guestrooms. Lovely, isn’t it?”

“Why would Mr. Gold install me in this part of the house if I am a servant?” She gulped, fear beginning to escalate inside of her. She suddenly had a dim memory of that horrible Scotsman instructing the housekeeper to take her to a guestroom.

Father had warned her that living in Mr. Gold’s household would tarnish her reputation. As beastly as the man was, it never occurred to her that he would use his position to take advantage of her. She assumed that while he had yet to show it, that he had some moral center. But living in the part of the household reserved for family and friends, not too far from the master’s bedchamber…what could that mean? Certainly he did not think he had the right to molest her. Though who knew what was going through that calculating man’s head?

“I’m not sure.” The housekeeper answered, sensing her discomfort. “But allow me to assure you, Mr. Gold will bring you no harm.” 

Belle fingered the ribbon of her bonnet and then unlaced it. She removed it and sitting on the edge of the bed, she placed the hat on her lap. She noted a chair in the corner and decided that before she turned in, she would wedge it under the door knob. Mr. Gold may not have evil intentions of any kind, but he had given her no reason to trust him. 

The woman took a seat by her and reached for her hand. “If there is anything you need... Are you hungry?” The woman tilted her head as her peaceful eyes searched Belle’s. “Darling, it is perfectly natural if you want to cry.”

The second her companion finished the sentence, Belle’s unshed tears spilled out. The woman’s kind words unlocked the emotion inside of her. “I didn’t want that- that Beast to see my tears. He doesn’t deserve the satisfaction.” She searched for a hanky, but came up empty, for she had given it to her Father to doctor his wounds. 

The woman untied the apron strings at her waist and handed it over to be used as a substitute. “Once you get used to it, it isn’t so bad here.” 

“Did he enslave you too?” Belle asked in between sobs. 

“Dry your eyes and take a few deep breaths. Look how pretty you are, even when you weep.” The housekeeper chuckled. “No. I have worked here on my own volition for years.”  
Belle dabbed the corners of her eyes, using the worn rim of the apron. “Why? How can you bear it? How can you bear him?” 

“There was a time that Mr. Gold wasn’t like this. I thought that I could help him. His heart is empty.” The housekeeper’s attention strayed to the Book on the nightstand. She picked it up and petted its nimble cover. “You are a religious girl, are you not?”

Belle nodded. “Yes. That belonged to my mother; she cherished it so. I don’t know why, but I grabbed it before I left. The thought occurred to me that the Scriptures would change Mr. Gold’s mind.” She mumbled. “Foolish notion.”

“Twas meant to be. In this dark place, we must cling to some hope. Otherwise what else is there? You will certainly have need of it here.” 

Belle said. “Thank you...” 

“Mrs. Potts. May I call you by your Christian name?” 

“Of course.” Belle stood and gave a small curtsey to her new acquaintance. “We have not been properly introduced. My name is Belle French.”

“Belle. What a lovely name for a lovely girl. I think we shall be great friends, don’t you?” Mrs. Potts shook her hand briefly and then released it. She got to her feet. “Well, darling, I have to go now and make certain the master has had his meal. Do ring the bell on the nightstand if you need me.” She kissed her brow and bid her a goodnight before closing the door. 

It was still light out, but Belle felt as though she had enough of the current day. The giddiness that she experienced earlier had faded yet her weary body longed for rest.  
Belle rose and after peeling off her jacket, she lit a candle and uncoiled her chestnut locks from her head. Her hair hanging loose felt better. Unfortunately she hadn’t brought a brush and had to run her fingers through it. She also lacked a proper nightgown and considering her dress would have to be fresh enough for the next several days, she couldn’t sleep in it. Shedding the frock and her stays, she laid it on the window seat and had to make do with her shift to sleep in. Perhaps Mrs. Potts could lend her something in the coming days. 

She lifted her head and froze.

There was an awkward gate of a lame man; one footstep, the dragging of a leg and an extra thump that she could only assume was a cane. Mr. Gold! Before she set foot in his house, though he wasn’t a pleasant person, she wouldn’t have thought him the kind to harm a defenseless girl. Now she wasn’t so sure. He showed cruelty towards her Father and had no qualms about throwing her family out on the street. The man truly was as vile as a villain in a gothic romance. Such characters were known for their depravity towards the heroines.

She could hear him pause, not too far outside the guestroom door. Was he going to try and ravish her? God in heaven, please protect me! Afterwards, he might lock her up in an attic or in the dungeon and eventually murder her!

Belle drug the chair across the floor and forced the back of it under the door knob. She waited and didn’t hear anything else. Perhaps she had been mistaken and it was another servant or the creaks of the old castle. Whatever it was, she decided that every night before she went to sleep, she would secure the door.  
She slid beneath the cozy covers, tugging them over her head and sank into the pliable feathered mattress. Though soothing, it brought her little comfort and she spent the next hour or two crying herself to sleep.

#

Adam held his breath and didn’t move a muscle as he lingered across the hallway from the guestroom where Belle was residing. He had tried to sneak to his room without being heard, but the whiney floor must have betrayed his presence. That or the thud of his wretched cane. He had heard an odd scraping sound and the doorknob being wrenched. She must have barricaded the door, thinking she was in peril. He wasn’t sure when he had given the impression that he would cause her physical harm. Hopefully in time she would come to see that despite all of his faults, he would never commit that kind of evil. 

Though he had intended for Maurice French to be housed with other servants, when it was determined that Belle would be working for him, he didn’t think it right for her to be up there. Although it might appear that he was putting propriety at naught, he figured a girl like her should be in a normal room. After all, one of the male servants might try to hurt her. A whisper had already spread throughout the household about her. He would have to give strict instructions to the staff to treat her accordingly. While she would be working for him, she was not to be considered on equal footing with them; she would be their superior. He would have to imply that she was his particular guest.

A grandfather clock chimed and there was a bleak silence. Miss French’s whimpers had tapered off. The glow of candlelight shone through the slit between the door and the floor.

How was she supposed to be useful to him? The Dark Castle had a sufficient number of maids. Perhaps Mrs. Potts could take the chit under her wing. The housekeeper seemed to take an instant liking to her. Belle would be probably more trouble than she was worth. She may be a farmer’s daughter, but she looked and acted more like a gentleman’s. He would be willing to wager that she had never lifted a finger in her life let alone performed an actual chore. 

_Why did I agree to this?_ He cursed himself for being a fool. When he thought Maurice was to play the part of the servant, it seemed like the man’s just rewards for not keeping his word. Somehow this girl managed to twist everything around and before he knew it, she had traded herself for her Father’s freedom and her family’s security.

When her sweet face came to mind, he felt as though his skin was on fire. Belle was beautiful. That first day he saw her perched in that tree like a…what was it that she resembled? A dove? She was every bit of that and more. 

Adam clutched his chest, thinking his heart might pound straight through his ribcage. He shook his head, hoping to free his mind from further thoughts of the girl. Rather than stand there like a dolt a moment longer, he entered his bedchamber and hoped that a good night’s sleep would remedy his mysterious palpitations. 

Instead he spent the night, lying on his back, wide awake, thinking of her and wondered what that meant. 

#

No one of good and moral society ventured out into Ashby at night. Though a pleasant place to live, such folks were safe in their little houses, by their firesides reading “Fordyce’s Sermons.” Only laborers, gypsies and scarlet ladies lurked through dark streets after the sun went down. Well, and men hankering for a certain kind of companionship. That of the female variety.

Gaston Harcourt knew that no one of any consequence would recognize him and be able to inform on him. As he swaggered through the crowded street of commoners, his eyes settled on the prize that he was pursuing. His pulse quickened.

A red haired beauty was flirting with a horde of chaps, her peach lips sporting a coy expression. She was torn between which fellow who would become her next customer. He sniggered. Those three fools were no match for him. 

He pushed himself in between them and her and cleared his throat.

The woman batted her lashes at him. “Look who’s here. Hail the conquering hero. Sorry boys, but I am spoken for this evening. Better luck next time.” She slipped her arm through his and allowed herself to be led off. “I thought you were busy tonight.”

“I can always make time for you, Zelena.” Gaston cracked a devilish smile. 

Her quarters were in a rougher part of town, in Lower Ashby, though he didn’t mind. It was better to traverse such areas than bring her back to his fine home. A month of purification would not cleanse the trail of impurities that she would leave behind. Not only that, one of his servants could slip up and somehow word could get around about his nasty little habits. Yes, he preferred her side of town. Her neighbors were much like her and when she wasn’t available, he called on one of them. 

Zelena opened the door to her modest, one room abode. Though a member of the oldest profession, she kept her place clean and were it not for her tightly cinched dress and undone hair, she could have been mistaken for a poor woman down on her luck. 

After she lit a few candles, she glided to the table and poured them each a glass of wine. The liquid tinged her lips a shade darker. He enjoyed the silhouetted view of her in the light. From the thin material of her dress he could make out the shape of her, the curves he loved exploring.

He took a seat and raised his glass to her. “Thank you for allowing me to call on you.”

“There you go, sounding like a proper gent.” She rolled her striking emerald eyes. “Is that how you won the heart of your intended?” 

“What can I say? My charm is irresistible.” Gaston said after taking a long drink. He removed his coat and unbuttoned the clasps at his wrists. 

If he didn’t know better, he would have thought her envious. Though he expected that he and Belle would soon be married by a special license, nothing would change. Other married men kept mistresses or prostitutes on the side and remained wholly committed to their wives and families. Why couldn’t he do the same? Such was the practice of the gentlemen in his social circle. Even the best of Christians had dalliances here and there. There was no shame in it.

His friend Nottingham suggested to him once that he could elevate Zelena to the position of his mistress and put her up in a better house and financially care for her. While she was fetching and he most definitely enjoyed her company, she did not have the manners or the education to officially be his mistress. She was good right where she was and he didn’t mind too much having to share her with other men. At least she had the good sense to choose his suite when he came around, especially since he paid more than all the others combined. His fine physique had to be a sort of reward to her, considering his body was strapping compared to that of her other customers’. 

Zelena went behind him. Her quick fingers kneaded his shoulders and the back of his neck. “I suppose that this is the last time you will come to see little ol’ me.”

“Why do you say that?” He quickly kissed her left wrist. 

“You will be a married man soon, of course. Do you know how many regulars I lose to the institution of marriage? I really believe that such an arrangement should be outlawed. It is detrimental to the economy. At least to my personal economy, anyway.” She cackled and he joined in. 

“Why should that change anything? If I am discreet, we have nothing to worry about.” He supposed that Belle was smart enough for a woman and that in time she would learn of his association with Zelena. Of course as his wife there would be little she could do. If he were providing a home for her and whatever offspring they produced, she should overlook his little indiscretions. After all, socially he was superior to her. 

He started out as a farmer’s son, but between ambition and diligence, he enlisted in the navy and rose to the rank of captain. When he made his fortune and became one of the landed gentry, he left his men and his ship to purchase an estate for himself and to officially play the part of a gentleman. All that was required now was a son to inherit all he had built. That was where Belle French came in. A gentleman’s daughter would likely turn her nose up at him due to his meager beginnings. However, Belle also being the child of a farmer was originally his equal. For her to wed him, it would be a step up in society. Her children would be full-fledged members of the gentry.

“Your intended won’t mind? I thought she and her family were religious folk.”

“Oh, they are. Belle is a fine girl and has her uses. Her family owns this nice bit of land and if I marry her, I’ll be likely to get my hands on it. The old man is terrible at farming, but my men have a talent for it. Under my supervision, they can grow anything. I will make a decent profit.” He craned his neck and winked. “Though I can’t deny that I won’t mind having her in my bed every night.”

The French sisters were all hailed to be local beauties, although Belle did surpass her elder sisters on that score. If she didn’t have her nose in a book all the time and flirted a little, she would be better company. He could easily have settled on Eloise or Patricia, however Belle was clearly the apple of her Father’s eye. In Maurice French’s mind, the sun rose and set with that girl. The old man would do anything for her, including signing his farm over to her husband, to ensure that her childhood home would always be in good hands. Gaston figured that once he had that land and improved upon it a little, he would sell it for all that it was worth. 

No, he had no real love for Belle, although she would make him a suitable wife. What more could he want than a fertile girl who could provide him with sons and warm his bed occasionally? When he had made his offer, she was just about to give her answer when that hideous beast of a man showed up and nearly ruined his chances. 

“Rogue.” Zelena swatted him on his thick shoulder and leaned down, her bosom not too far from his face. Her hot breath tickled his ear. “Trying to make me jealous? You’ll be busy enough and forget to all about me.”

“Hush.” He drew her around and pulled her into his lap. He began to unlace her bodice. “I promise, I will come by every Saturday night.”

“How romantic. And right before church too.” Zelena crushed her full lips to his. 

Hours later, the woman beside him serenaded him with her soft snores. He draped the sheet around his lengthy frame and tucked his hands behind his head. In a day or two he would call on the French’s again and finish his proposal to Belle. No girl in her situation would refuse, not when that Beast had was threatening to throw her and her family out into the streets. He didn’t know the full extent of Maurice’s troubles, but somehow the old man indebted himself to the notorious Mr. Gold. 

Not that he cared, but Mr. Gold’s threats would likely be a help rather than a hindrance. The Beast’s sudden appearance showed up at the opportune moment.  
Gaston decided that he would sweeten the deal by offering Belle and her loved ones protection and then she would have to accept him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I'm portraying Belle as a Christian, ironically in those days evangelical Christians viewed novels as immoral. It was believed that novels would lead to sin. But after awhile, evangelicals such as Hannah More and Mary Brunton wrote novels as a tool to gain converts to the evangelical movement. Our Belle, likely influenced by her mother, loves books and reading regardless of what society thinks. 
> 
> Rather than Storybrooke, I have this based in a fictional town called "Ashby" in Hampshire, England. Ashby does not exist. This comes from the novel I had hoped to publish.
> 
> The "Fordyce's Sermons" mentioned in this chapter was mentioned in "Pride and Prejudice" as the book Mr. Collins reads aloud to the Bennet family. Per wikipedia: "Sermons to Young Women (1766), often called Fordyce's Sermons, is a two-volume compendium of sermons compiled by James Fordyce,[1] a Scottish clergyman, which were originally delivered by himself and others.[2] Fordyce was considered an excellent orator, and his collection of sermons found a ready audience among English clergy and laity alike. It quickly became a staple of many Church and personal libraries." 
> 
> Gaston never really featured much in "Once Upon a Time," except for the episode of "Skin Deep." So this Gaston takes after the one in Disney's "Beauty and the Beast." Yes, folks, he is that shallow and dumb.
> 
> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/126252652964/dark-night-of-the-soul-chapter-four


	5. Chapter 5

By sunrise the following morn, Adam was washed and dressed and downstairs before the majority of the other servants roused to perform their duties. He toured the first floor of the house and then deigned himself as venturing as low as the kitchen looking for Belle. No sooner had she signed those papers and her father departed, Mrs. Potts swept her upstairs and he hadn’t seen her since. Why, she hadn’t eaten the night before and had to be starving. He half-expected to find her at one of the servant’s tables breaking the fast. 

When his search turned up empty and the other servants could offer him no plausible explanations, he massaged his eyelids and trudged his way back upstairs to his library. What if yesterday was a dream? Perhaps he had slept at some point and all that had occurred was a figment of his imagination. For all he knew, Maurice French could be out there right now feeding the horses and mucking their stalls. After all, no lady in her right mind would do what she did. Not even for a family that she loved. 

He heard a door on the second story shut and a woman humming a little tune as she traipsed down the stairs. It had to be her! Why he was eager to see Belle, he wasn’t sure. If it were any other servant, he wouldn’t give them a second thought. He didn’t even know half of their names nor where they hailed from, nor did he care to. They could go hang themselves and it wouldn’t make one bit of difference. But this one…she despised him. More so than the others. He detected it in her eyes the previous night. For some peculiar reason, the thought of her hating him bothered him. 

He straightened his collar and smoothed his longish hair back. Having no false illusions about his looks, he figured the best he could do was be presentable. When he felt prepared, he hurried out to meet her. 

Adam turned a corner and came face to face with Mrs. Potts. His shoulders fell. “Oh, it’s you. I thought-”

“I can well imagine what you thought, Mr. Gold.” The woman had a bemused expression on her face. “Belle is still asleep. After all the happened yesterday, the poor girl was exhausted. Can you blame her? Being forced to leave her family and the only home she had ever known-” 

“Please, I haven’t had my morning coffee or tea yet. Can you not prattle on so?” He said, pressing his fingertips to his temples. The pounding had only begun. It was far too early to listen to Mrs. Potts’ little sermons. “Will you let me know when Miss French is down?”

“Eager to see her, eh, Mr. Gold?” Mrs. Potts arched her silvery brow. She was enjoying his discomfort. “She is a charming young lady, is she not?”

He felt his jaw tighten. Why did Mrs. Potts have to insinuate that he was attracted to the new servant? Oh, he noticed how pretty she was. He would have to be blind or half-dead not to. But it would not be moral for him to think of Belle that manner. Though she was the help, he had given his word to Maurice French that she would be watched after. Only the lowest of the low would take advantage of that position. He might not be the best of men, but even he had to draw the line somewhere.

“Not at all. I was going to...” He scrounged through his mind for a credible excuse. “…yell at her for not being up earlier.”

The subject of their conversation chose that moment to come downstairs. Belle demurely cleared her throat, laying her hand on the banister. “I see. Well, I will be certain to be up by dawn from now on.” Her smug tone only set him further on edge. He noted that she was wearing the pinkish dress that she had on the day before and knew that couldn’t continue. “Do you want me to fetch your breakfast, Mr. Gold?”

“Aye.” The words lodged in his throat and he thought he was going to choke. “Eggs will do.” 

Belle nodded, brushing past him. She turned around once to say, “Oh, and don’t worry. I will be sure to bring you a cup of coffee.” She left before he could form a clever response. 

Mrs. Potts was biting her lips to keep from laughing. When she composed herself enough, she was about to speak when he held up a finger. 

“I don’t want to hear it. Not a single, solitary word.” Adam said. 

He marched into the dining room and claimed his place at the head of the table. As was his customary, a newspaper was waiting for him. He skimmed over the articles, his eyes flittering from one paragraph to the next. None of the topics could hold his interest very long. 

When a plate of ham and eggs were laid out before him, he folded his paper. He inhaled and savored it’s delicious smell. A steaming cup of coffee beckoned him too.  
Belle stood there, her hands folded in front of her. She watched him, her mouth curving into a genuine smile. The hatred that she possessed in her eyes the previous night had vanished. He had not expected such an alteration in mood and wondered what the source of her joy could be.

Adam cut the egg open and sopping up the yoke, he stuck a forkful into his mouth. Bitterness exploded on his tongue. The saltiness made his eyes water. Were he not a gentleman, he would have spat it out and shouted a string of curses at her. He forced himself to swallow. 

“Well? It’s my mother’s recipe.” She sounded as though she wanted to please him. “She had a special way of making eggs.” 

“Tastes good.” Adam forced a smile, which felt more like a grimace. He moved on to the ham. The fork and knife would not slice through the meat until he pressed down hard. The ridges on the knife scraped the plate and let out a shrill squeak. He took a bite and chewed…and chewed and chewed. The texture was as tough as stale leather. When he wiped his mouth, he pushed the wad of meat out of his mouth with his tongue and into the napkin. He was too wary to sample the coffee. “Did you do the cooking at home?”

“No, my sister Eloise does.” She tapped her temple. “But I committed most of my Mother’s recipes to memory and I’m sure you will like the others. Now I will go and prepare for the noon meal and then if you are not too busy we can discuss my other duties.”

Belle traipsed back to the kitchen. 

Adam had never tasted a worse meal in his life. He didn’t know that a person could do such abominable things to food. He would have sent it back, but when she mentioned her mother, he didn’t have the heart to insult her creation. Though he was not wholly acquainted with the French family and their history, it was plainer than plain that Belle’s mother had since popped off. To ridicule the dead would be vicious and in bad taste. If memory served him right, locally Mrs. French was as revered as some sort of saint. 

He tilted the coffee cup and swished it around. The liquid rolled like hot syrup. “Revolting swill.” He knocked it and the plate aside. “Damn it, what have I gotten myself into?”

No longer hungry, Adam headed back to his library and took a seat at his desk. The small wooden horse standing on one corner of the desk captured his attention. He picked it up and ran his thumb over its angular body. It had belonged to him as a child and it was the one object from his past that he could bear to have out in the open. The other toys in the household had belonged to Bae and were confined to the old nursery. He couldn’t bear the sight of anything that reminded him too much of his child. As for the wooden horse, he had held it back to give to his son when the boy was old enough to appreciate it. Of course that would never be now.

 _Bae, my boy._ Realization hit him. For the first morning in three years, he did not wake up and curse his existence. He had actually gone several hours without thinking of his son or of how he hated his current life. 

Adam clenched his eyes shut to conceal his tears.

#

The Cook had not felt well when she had awoken that morning. When Belle heard, she thought it the opportune moment to put her plan into action. By nature, she was not a vindictive person, but she concluded that Mr. Gold would not want her working for him if she performed her job as a servant poorly. While it was not kind or honest, she reasoned that the man more than deserved it. 

How Mr. Gold had treated her Father and had no compassion for her family’s unfortunate situation, a little meddling was due him. By the way the townsfolk and the servants skittered around him, frightened enough that when his shadow fell on them they would feel contaminated; she safely assumed that no one crossed her employer.

A fourth of a cup of salt on his eggs, overcooking the ham and boiling the coffee for too long until it scorched was the perfect recipe for a disastrous meal. The moment she saw the disgusted expression on Mr. Gold face, her second thoughts were assuaged. If all went smoothly, he would be sending her home within a fortnight. 

Leaning over the stove, stirring the stew, her concentration was interrupted by the high-pitched voice of a young footman. “Miss French… Mr. Gold requests your presence. He usually takes his tea at this time.” The boy gulped. “He is in the library.”

The blood drained from her face. “Oh, of course. Thank you.” 

Perhaps Mr. Gold had seen through her little ploy and wanted to confront her. She assembled the tea set on a tray and went to the library. 

Belle paused outside the door, unsure if she had the courage to face him. Especially after the heated words they exchanged the night before. Her family had only two servants in their employ; a maid of all works and a cook and the ambiance was informal. However she knew that such relations between the staff and the gentry did not operate that fashion. That had to be especially true of this great castle, the Dark Castle.

It had taken her forever to fall asleep last night. Hateful as Mr. Gold was, he never attempted to break into her room to ravish her. So, if he had no ill intentions for her in that respect, why have her in a guestroom? He couldn’t consider her an equal since he considered himself a cut above everyone else. Well, perhaps he considered her at the very least a degree above the help. 

She balanced the tray on her hip, knocked and when he beckoned her inside, she held her shoulders square. “You wish to speak with me, sir?” Placing the tray on a small table by the settee, she faced him. 

“Yes, um, your duties here…” Mr. Gold pointed at the tea pot. “I take a little milk in my tea, by the by.” 

Belle took a deep breath and set straight away to fixing him a cup. Under his scrutiny, she could feel her hands begin to shake and scolded herself for allowing him to affect her. Yet he seemed to be watching her every moment, waiting to pounce on her when she made a mistake.

“You will serve me my meals and you will clean the Dark Castle.”

“I-I understand.” 

“You will dust my collection and launder my clothing.”

“Yes.” She filled the cup to the brim and nodded. 

“You will fetch me fresh wool when I’m spinning at the wheel.” He gestured his tented hands to the far corner in the room where an old spinning wheel was situated.

How did I miss that the other day? Other than the old weavers in Ashby, she had not known any gentlemen of his class that spun wool. In fact, that was more of a feminine occupation than a masculine one. She would have to look it over 

“Oh! And you will skin the children I hunt for their pelts.”

Belle stopped short, her trembling fingers losing their grip on the cup. It hit the floor with a small thud and the brown liquid sloshed across the rug. The last time he said something that disturbing, he was telling Father that he should have drowned some of his daughters at birth to conserve his wealth. 

The Beast cracked a smile, raising a finger. “That one was a quip – not serious.”

“Of course.” Belle knelt down to pick up the cup. She winced, noticing that the edge was broken. That was unfortunate, as it was pretty. White curved body with a slim blue branch and blue trim. “I’m, uh…I’m so sorry, but, uh…It’s…It’s chipped.” She held it up for him to see, biting her lower lip. “Y-You can hardly see it.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Well, it’s just a cup.” 

Belle laid the broken cup on the desk, deciding to dispose of it later. What a strange man, often put out by others however unaffected by her awkwardness. “So, it is not a great family heirloom?”

“Of course not. As I said, it is only a cup.”

As she was pouring him a second cup, she stole glimpses of him. For a moment, he was unaware, calculating figures in a ledger and it gave her the perfect opportunity to study him. In all the interactions, she hadn’t really looked at him straight on before. 

Mr. Gold was not a handsome man, not in the conventional sense and certainly not in the sense that Gaston Harcourt was. Her new employer had pale skin that bore crow’s-feet by his coffee-colored eyes. His brown hair was lighter than what it must have been in his youth. Gray strands were intertwining amidst the brown and would eventually become the victor in that epic battle. A long, delicate nose was perched in the center of his face above a mouth full of crooked white teeth. While not a pleasant person, his cool manners somehow made him attractive. 

When he caught her eye, she placed the fresh cup before him and asked, “Will that be all?”

“For now.” Mr. Gold said. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something else, but wasn’t sure how to pose the question. When she thought he was about to dismiss her, he blurted out, “Was your father able to provide you with other dresses? To wear when that one is dirty, I mean. Do you have other sets of clothing?”

“My things are at home, Mr. Gold. I hadn’t planned on this sudden trip.” She said evenly. 

“I see. I will send a servant to fetch your belongings.” 

“And my books?” She ventured. If she were to stay on for years, she would need literature to carry her through, especially since it was less than likely that he would permit her to peruse his library. 

“Aye, your books and whatever else you might require.” 

Belle gave a small curtsy and headed for the door. “Thank you. I shall begin my work.”

Perhaps it would not be incredibly horrendous to live under his roof. As long as she could escape through reading and correspond with her family, she could bear anything. Including his loathsome company.

“Wait.” He had shot to his feet. 

She slowly turned back around, thinking, Yes, that would have been too easy. The man was incapable of letting her have the final word.

He stood there awkwardly and when he didn’t finish, Belle asked, “Yes? Is there something else?”

Mr. Gold crooked his finger and tugged on his collar. His thin neck constricted. “Well, um, well…” He inhaled and continued, “Although you are engaged, I will not permit your affianced or any other followers to be sniffing around my property.”

Belle was perplexed at first and then remembered that upon their first meeting, he had witnessed Gaston Harcourt’s proposal. She sighed. “Despite what you may think and what my father may have implied, I am not engaged.”

“He more than implied that it was settled between you and... George Harcourt was it?” 

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “I assure you, I am quite single. Gaston Harcourt is not my fiancé.” Her tongue was too sharp for her to hold it. “Should I be expecting any young ladies to come sniffing around here for you?”

“That is none-” 

“And my private affairs are none of your concern. Is there anything else?”

“No. You may go now.” He gripped the back of the desk chair, tight enough that his knuckles whitened. 

Belle waited until she was down the hall before she giggled. She wished she could have captured the likeness of his face when she had snapped at him. He had not expected a person in her position to counter him, especially after his morbid little quip. Yes, like many rich men, her employer was accustomed to having his own way.

Had he made his request in a kinder manner she would not have argued. After all, it would not be seemly to have followers while living in his household as a maid. However Mr. Gold delighted in nettling her about Gaston. The man sensed her embarrassment of having Gaston as a suitor. Perhaps now he would take the hint and leave that subject alone. 

Hopefully her employer would tire of her ineptitude as a servant and cancel their agreement and the debt. With any luck, I may be on my way home soon. Belle mused.

#

The second he had it confirmed that Belle’s suitor was in fact Gaston Harcourt and gleaned enough information to paint an accurate portrait of the man, Adam sent for his carriage. Per his sources, Gaston was to be in Ashby on a small matter of business.

As the chaise and four bounced along the uneven rocky earth, he questioned why he permitted Belle to show the cheek that she did. Or why he had not got angry when she chipped his cup. Had it been any other servant, or any other person for that matter, he would have put them in their place. He wouldn’t have brushed the incident aside…or kept the chipped cup and hid it in his bedroom. That infernal cup should have been tossed out, but when Mrs. Potts came in to clean, he hung on to it, implying that it was salvageable. Why he teased Belle, attempting to get a rise out of her or worried that she had a change of clothes and her precious books were still a great mystery to him.  
Yet the girl intentionally baited him and did it to insult him, then flounced off without a care in the world. As much as she detested him and bristled under his inquiries, she was still under his protection. His inquiries into her private affairs were for her own good. 

Belle insisted that she was not engaged, however, she that might have been a falsehood. She could very well have an understanding with the chap and run off with him in the dead of night when she had the first chance. Adam wouldn’t put it past her to leave him in the lurch. Whatever was going on between them, from the limited dealings he had with Gaston Harcourt, he did not like the man. 

Gaston came across as the devoted, thoughtful lover that most ladies prayed for. In his mind, the man was too good to be true. 

“No one has that many virtues.” Adam said. “I should know.” 

Upon entering Ashby, he inched forward in his seat and it wasn’t long before he caught sight of Gaston sauntering past a slew of shops. 

He used the handle of his cane to knock on the ceiling of the carriage. As soon as the horses and wheels stopped, he stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“Stay here. I am going for a walk.” Adam instructed the driver. The servant bowed his head and obeyed.

Adam followed the man from a distance. His leg and cane often slowed him down. This time he pushed himself. He couldn’t let this fellow get away. His knee would trouble him later from the forced excursion, but that was of little matter. 

The better part of town receded and soon they were in the inferior part. Lower Ashby. No one of any caliber set foot there, unless they were a missionary in search of converts. Only the dregs lurked there. Well, and the gentlemen eager for a particular kind of female companionship. 

Gaston strutted to a decrepit house and pounded on the front door. The door was opened to him and he eagerly went inside. Twin howls of laughter, one masculine and one feminine, trickled through the crude wooden siding of the structure. 

Adam leaned against a light post and waited. 

He had a good idea of what Gaston was doing in such a place. The man wouldn’t stay long. That kind never did. After he got what he wanted, he would leave. 

It was not uncommon for a gentleman to keep a mistress or to visit prostitutes, at least until he was properly married. However, Adam had the distinct feeling that Gaston liked to have his cake and to eat it too. 

For all of his faults and past sins, Adam never did sow his wild oats in his youth. While not a saint by any means, he never could take beautiful expression of love and demean it with harlots. Though his marriage with Milah had been fallen apart, he remained faithful to her until her death. He could at least rejoice that despite that broken union, they had created Bae. After Milah and Bae’s deaths, he made the mistake of having an affair with a married woman named Cora. The plan was for her to divorce her husband, then they would flee to the Continent where Adam would properly marry her. But that didn’t work out either. For him, love never did.

An hour passed and Gaston emerged. He was kissed on the cheek by a disheveled looking woman. Her lips left behind a scarlet stain. 

Gaston passed by, whistling a bold tune. The fellow showed no remorse for what he had just done.

Adam propelled himself from the light post. He was about to call after the man when the woman flounced out of her house. She was heading after her latest customer when he stepped in her path. 

The woman didn’t bat an eyelash. She lifted her head. Her painted face made her look more haggard than beautiful, her colorful mask ending at her chin and jawline. An invisible cloud of potent fragrance hovered around her.

Her eyes widened. “My name is Zelena.” Between her wild reddish hair and her gray eyes, she looked mad. “You are new to these parts. What is your pleasure?” She purred, reaching out to touch his cheek. 

Adam caught her by the wrist and brought her arm back down to her side. The last thing he wanted was to be polluted by her. “Not you. I am not coming to you as a customer.” He crossed his arms. “That man who was calling on you, Mr. Gaston Harcourt, is he a regular of yours?”

“Information costs too, mister.” She held out her hand, palm upwards. Her long nails were corroded with dirt.

He probed around in his trouser pocket, found a shilling and gave it to her. 

The woman examined it and her eyes lit up when she determined that it was genuine. “All right, yes, he is a regular.” She stuck the money into her cleavage for safe keeping, making him want to gouge out his own eyes. “He is a fine, good man and pays well. Is there something wrong with that?”

“There is if he is pursuing a young lady and he is masquerading around as a good man.”

“What is it to me if he has a girl, as long as I get what I earn?” She shrugged her bare shoulders. “What concern is it to you? Are you her father?”

He bit the inside of his cheek. “No. I just want to be certain of where that fellow stands. And now I do.” When Zelena ventured another step towards him, he growled, “Follow me and I’ll skin you alive. Understand?”

Zelena recoiled, dipping her head and holding her hands before her. She appeared meek as a whipped pup, but he knew better. He learned to recognize that kind of deception by observing his father.

Adam turned his heel and ambled into the better half of Ashby. He was glad that he ordered the driver to keep the carriage in that part. Another walk would do him good. It would give him plenty of time to think.

Belle French irritated him to no end. Yet she deserved better than Gaston. He hoped that she was being honest when she said that she was not engaged to that cad. How Gaston could meddle with a cheap prostitute when he had the chance to spend his life with Belle was beyond his comprehension. If the man had any sense, he would cherish her. 

Someone has to watch out for Belle. He shook his head. The girl’s father wasn’t being as cautious as he should. Maurice thought he could solve all of his problems by using his child as a pawn for material comfort. 

Adam said, “I won’t allow it.” 

As long as Belle was under his protection, he would make certain she would come to no harm. Even if that meant keeping her father and beau at bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I'm not an expert, but a maid in a gentleman's household would not have done any cooking. However, considering Belle's position in the house is ambiguous, she does a little bit of everything. Considering she does a poor job, intentionally and unintentionally, Belle could not have made a career as a servant. 
> 
> Employers set the ground rules; female servants were often not permitted followers (suitors). A servant's duty was to the family they were serving. In Belle's case, it is a good thing that Adam follows his instincts on this. 
> 
> While many couples vowed their fidelity to one another in a church, it wasn't always honored. Some men did take a mistress, all the while playing the part of husband and father at home. Women also committed adultery, however they had to be more discreet about it. Divorce was frowned upon, although a man could obtain one whereas it was nearly impossible for a woman. In this verse, Cora was likely bored in her marriage and led Adam to believe that she would eventually leave her husband for him. As for Adam, once he lost Bae, he lost his way. However, he is finding it again because of Belle.
> 
> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/126902506374/dark-night-of-the-soul-chapter-five


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: The Cane of Feelings makes an appearance in this chapter. Nothing too violent, but Gold does use his cane on someone.

The maid escorted Gaston into the parlor, where he found Maurice sitting by the fire. The older man’s clothing was unkempt, his vest miss-buttoned and his cravat unknotted and dangling open, revealing his bulging collar bone. The white shirt was yellowed underneath his armpits. He had not plied his razor and had a day’s worth of growth on his saggy chin. His watery eyes threatened to spill tears at any moment. 

Gaston removed his cap from his head. A pang of guilt twisted in his belly. 

For the last couple of days he had been delightfully occupied with Zelena. He figured he owed it to her since he would soon be married and he wouldn’t be requiring her services until the honeymooning period was complete. When he returned home, his friend Nottingham informed him that rumor had it that Maurice French had promised to work off the debt that he incurred by indenturing himself to the Beast. English law did not permit such practices, therefore he assumed that Nottingham was informed and Mr. Gold had to relent. 

Yet by the distraught expression on Maurice’s face, something had gone awry. The Beast had originally given the family a week to come up with the money that was due him. The dreaded day had passed, though it was unlikely that Gold would show compassion. That man must have committed a greater travesty to have upset Maurice.

“Maurice!” He slapped the older man on the shoulder and gave it a hearty squeeze. “Forgive me, I have been in London on business. But I came as soon as I heard.” He dropped into a nearby chair and rocked back on its hind legs, then let it teeter to and fro. “Thank the Lord, that Scotsman released you.”

Maurice brought a fist to his teeth and bit into his knuckles. “Not without a price. Everything comes with a price.” He started to weep once more.

He never understood Maurice. The man was nothing more than a sentimental old fool. Maurice’s world revolved around his three silly daughters and his home. He possessed no practicality, no mind for business. The skills he once had as a farmer had fallen by the wayside. However to appease this man, Gaston often humored him. He could play the part of the good Christian and old family friend when it suited him. The whole French family was none the wiser and nobody got hurt. 

“What are you talking about? Not to worry, I will honor my deal with you and repay Mr. Gold. He will not lay a finger on this land.” Gaston said. “Belle and your other daughters will never know what it is to struggle. I promise you that. Nothing bad will happen.” 

“It’s too late.” Maurice shook his large head. He unraveled a blotched handkerchief from his hand and blew his nose into it. “Belle- she traded herself to Mr. Gold to pay off my debt. And I let her.”

Gaston’s eyes bulged. He could feel the vein in his neck throb. “What?” He gripped the arms of the chair. “How?”

“Belle learned of my plan and followed me to Gold’s home. She offered herself up instead and signed the document right in front of me. I was too astonished that she would do such a thing, otherwise I would have taken the pen from her.” Maurice rocked forward in his chair, his arms clumsily wrapped around his large frame. “She is lost to us forever. We will never see her again!”

Gaston hurled himself upwards and charged to the far side of the room. He had to put as much distance between him and the old man. Otherwise he would be in danger of striking him. The fool! That idiot! He grasped the window pane.

How could Maurice allow Belle to run off like that? Yes, he was known for being a liberal father and allowed his daughters free reign. Why, Belle’s head was so full of books that it was quite unnatural. After all, to educate a lady was as useful as to educate a female cat. However, they had struck a bargain! Maurice had solemnly promised to give her to him in marriage. All was settled, aside from the marriage contract being signed. Did Maurice have so little control over his family affairs?

And what could Belle have been thinking? To endanger herself and her character by living in that Scottish Beast’s household. 

Gaston inwardly cursed. Not only that, she knew good and well what his intentions were. Perhaps she was playing the part of the maid who was disinterested. Delicate females often employed schemes to encourage their beaus to prove themselves. He never would have guessed that someone as innocent as Belle would be so devious. 

Touché, Miss French. Not only can I play your game, I shall win it. Gerald smiled. He liked nothing better than a challenge. In fact, he preferred it. 

He returned to Maurice’s side and dipped his head respectfully. “Not to worry, sir. Listen to me, I will rescue Belle. She will be back under your roof, safe and sound before nightfall. You have my word as a gentleman. It is a solemn oath.” 

“Oh, thank you, sir!” Maurice grabbed his hand and pumped it. Had the man not been worn so thin he would have dropped to his knees and lifted his hands in reverent praise, possibly even kissed his boots. “You are the son I never had. I bless the day the Lord brought you into our lives! The good Lord is certainly watching over us.”

Gaston placed the cap back on his head and tipped it to the older man. He took his leave of the French house and in a scramble he mounted his steed. Jabbing the horse in the ribs with his heels, the animal broke into a gallop. 

He would be at the Beast’s castle in a matter of minutes. Once he taught Mr. Gold what a real man was, the Scotsman would back down and release Belle into his care. All of Ashby would hear of how he crossed Gold and lived to tell about it. His lady would be indebted to him and likely be more inclined to his suit. 

He snapped the whip against the horse’s rear end, hard enough to leave a gash. However, the steed knew not to slow down and increased his speed.

The faster he rode, the louder the wind hissed in his ears. His body molded to the horses’ until they became one solid figure. The animal’s massive hooves kicked clumps of dirt, staining his stylish new boots, along with his breeches. But that was of little importance.

Gaston decided that before he would deliver Belle back to her father, he would get her alone and extract a promise of marriage from her. After all his trouble, the girl owed him by being gracious and accepting. 

#

The butler scarcely had time to flitter into the parlor, bow and announce the visitor when Gaston Harcourt, in all his glory, strode into the room.

Adam calmly laid his book aside and slowly rose to his feet. His grip on the handle of the cane tightened. It took all of his strength not to beat the living hell out of the man before him. Someone else would have to teach this bastard a lesson. Nothing would make him happier than to be the one to educate him.  
With his lips curled into a sneer, he said, “The welcome mat at my front door does not necessarily mean that you are welcome, Mr. Harcourt.”

“Where is she?” Gaston put his hands on his hips and looked from one end of the room to the other. “Where is Belle French?”

“Chained up in my dungeon, starving and half-dead, alongside my other victims.” He snickered at the man’s look of horror. Whilst not the sharpest knife in the drawer, at least this fellow was good for a laugh. If nothing else. “Where do you think? Dusting my books.” 

Gaston was in the hall in two strides. 

Adam caught up to him and jerked him back by the shoulder. He raised a finger. “Stop. That was not an invitation for you to see her. She has chores to tend to.”

“I don’t care! If you do not produce her this instance, I will- I will...” Gaston’s thick chest puffed in and out as he sputtered. 

As large as Gaston was, he was all talk. He was strong and fit to pull a plow, however it was unlikely that he ever lifted a finger himself. He had people that undertook his schemes. When confronted, he would back down. 

“You will what? You are nothing to her. As her employer, I don’t permit her to have followers.” Adam stepped towards him and through gritted teeth he said, “Especially the likes of you, dearie.”

Gaston’s blue eyes dilated and his lids twitched. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw you in Lower Ashby the other day, with that painted woman.” Adam said. “Not only that, I got your consort Zelena to confess that you were a regular customer of hers. Somehow you forgot to mention that to Belle and her father. For some reason they think you’re a good person.”

Gaston’s dusky skin blanched two shades. He backed into the wall and cowered. “Belle? Belle!” He bellowed out. “Belle, can you hear me? Come quick!”

Adam parted from him but continued to give him a hard stare. When he heard the rustling of skirts, he knew that Belle was not far off. 

The girl arrived at his side. “What is the matter, Mr. Gold?” She gasped when she saw her beau. “Mr. Harcourt, what are you doing here?”

“He has come to play the part of your knight in shining armor. And here I thought chivalry was dead.” Adam said. He felt a twinge of remorse for his snide words when she colored. Now was not the time for such comments. Were he to annoy her too much, she might go with Harcourt just to spite him. 

“Not to worry, my darling, when I pay the Beast, you will be free to leave with me.” Gaston edged to her, his hand raised to touch her cheek. “We can still be together.” 

Adam wanted nothing more than to take his cane and break the man’s limb into two. That blackguard had no right to lay his filthy hands on her. Not when he had been recently cavorting with a whore. That man’s touch was dirty and would only soil someone so good. 

He held his breath. What if Belle agreed to her suitor’s plan? If Gaston paid in favor for Maurice, then Belle could do as she pleased. He would have no claim to the land and she would no longer be living in the castle. As much as he might verbally deny it, he had grown to like having her in his home. Somehow her presence made life more bearable. Her cheekiness and clever little remarks distracted him from his pain. 

“No.” Belle recoiled from her beau. “Mr. Harcourt, I don’t know how many times I have to say it, but I don’t love you.” She spat out. 

“Don’t say that. You can learn to love me.” Gaston said. 

“I have known you for years.” She shook her head; the candlelight shone off her chestnut curls, making it appear gold on certain angles. “If I was going to fall in love with you, it would have already happened. I am going to stay here and work for Mr. Gold to pay off my family’s debt. It is the right thing to do.” Her eyes flickered to him briefly, which sent his heart racing. “Besides, I gave my word.”

Adam gripped the hem of his waistcoat. She is staying, she wants to stay! 

“You can’t! It is sinful for a single lady to live with a single man. He is not to be trusted.” Gaston’s shouts reverberated past the hallway and carried to the other rooms of the house. 

Belle said, “I have made my choice. There is no going back.”

“Miss French is right.” Adam found his voice and raised his finger to them. “The papers are legal and binding.” His lie was pathetic enough that neither contradicted him. As big of an imbecile as Gaston was, even he knew better. 

Gaston no longer heard him. His attention was focused on Belle. “Belle, who would have thought that you would stoop to such licentious behavior?” He tightened his long fingers into a fist and held it up. “You have sullied your good name, ruined your character and those connected to you are tainted by association.” He tossed the final word out like he would a curse word. “You’re acting like nothing more than a trollop.”

Belle outwardly flinched, as though he hit her. Gaston began to move towards her, his fist primed. She cowered to a corner, awaiting what was about to come.

With only seconds to react, Adam swung his cane and slammed it into the backs of Gaston’s legs. The man crumpled to the floor, roaring in pain. 

Adam stuck his knee into Gaston’s gut and pressed the stick to the man’s neck. “Stop! Despite what I am, Miss French has not compromised herself and she won’t. There is something to be said about your love if it can be so easily lost.” He growled, “How dare you think of laying a finger on her, or any lady for that matter. What kind of man are you?”

Gaston’s eyes were full of terror, he was gasping for breath, like a fist out of water. 

He noted that Belle was terrified too when looked up. She had covered her mouth to stifle a cry. As much as he would love to throttle the life out of Gaston, he had to stop before he went too far.

Adam pushed himself up, dusted his dark trousers off and straightened his shirt. He took a breath. He had to calm down or else risk frightening her further. 

“Now, get out.” He said to Gaston. “Or perhaps you would like me escort you out personally?”

Gaston scrambled to his feet and retreated from him as a rodent would. “This is not over. I will return with the authorities. I am on good terms with the constable.” His arm was outstretched and he shook his clenched fist. “Enslaving an English girl is illegal in Britain.” The man stumbled out the front door. 

Adam stole a glimpse at Belle. She was watching him, though with an expression he could not discern. Her usual haughtiness was not there. 

He offered her his hand to steady her. She refused to touch him. 

“Thank you, Mr. Gold, for defending me.” She was hugging herself and edging back. 

He had scared her.

“Think nothing of it.” Adam gave her a short, stern nod. “Now, bring me my tea. It won’t bring itself after all.”

Belle hurried off, neglecting to make a witty remark. 

Adam disappeared into his library, which had become his sanctuary as of late. Rather than lean on his walking stick, he braced himself against his desk. He had to master his temper or else risk alienating her. 

Belle already hated him. One wrong action and he would drive her away for good. 

#

Belle dashed into the kitchen, breathless and perspiring. She dragged her wrist across her moistened forehead. 

She was unable to make sense of what had just occurred. Gaston Harcourt, who had been an old family friend for as long as she could remember, verbally attacked her for not accepting and refusing to go with him. Not only that, he had raised his fist as though he might strike her. Then Mr. Gold, the man she abhorred and despised, defended her honor and knocked Gaston to the floor. Her employer looked as though he wanted to kill Gaston. 

Mr. Gold was a dangerous man, however she suddenly felt safer with him. As long as she was under his roof, Gaston would not be permitted to court her, let alone harass her further. 

Mrs. Potts hurried to her and gathered her into a warm hug. When she parted, she said, “That was miraculous.”

“What was?” Belle filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove. 

She took the chipped cup, saucer and tea pot from the cabinet and laid them out on the tray. The other day when she went to fix the man a cup of tea, Mr. Gold insisted on using the chipped cup. For whatever his reasoning, that was the one he preferred. Far be it from her to try and figure the silly man out.

“Oh, don’t play innocent with me. We heard the whole exchange in here!” 

Her face heated up once more and not from the steaming water. So the whole household heard the vicious things that Gaston called her and how Mr. Gold reacted to it. While it upset her, her employer was more infuriated than she was. 

“The master was going to fight for your honor. That was practically a duel. Why, I do believe that Mr. Gold is half in love with you already!” Mrs. Potts gushed. 

A couple of the other maids were off to the side, giggling and pointed at her. She could only imagine what they said when her back was turned.

“Nonsense. He doesn’t know me. I’m not sure he is even capable of human feelings.” The last thing she wanted was word to spread that the master of the house fancied her. That would lead to all sorts of gossip and innuendos. 

“He stood up to that suitor of yours. The way he looks at you. You humanize him.” Edna took her by the arm and led her to a corner. She lowered her voice, “Listen, you could use this to your advantage. If you encourage him, he will release your father from that horrendous deal. Once you have that document destroyed, you can refuse him. Then you may go home.”

Belle couldn’t believe her ears. Mrs. Potts was no better than her Father or Gaston. Her new friend was perfectly fine with the idea of her prostituting herself to benefit all those involved. No one considered or cared that she had too much pride to degrade herself. Everyone was of one mind, that she was nothing better than a harlot.

The kettle whistled a wild shriek.

“Mrs. Potts, I am disappointed in you.” Belle broke away and removed the kettle and poured the scalding water into the tea pot. She lifted the tray off the counter, ready to take it to him. “It wouldn’t be kind to use him in that manner. Besides, I do not like him.”

“Is that so?” The woman’s mouth twitched. “Then why are you flushed?”

Her cheeks did feel warm. She heard another ripple of giggles from the maids. 

Belle ducked her head and left without giving a response. 

Is that how the rest of the household viewed her? As their employer’s mistress? Of course they did! Her room was right across from his. She did not attire herself like one of the help nor did she take her meals with them. In fact, other than Mrs. Potts, she hadn’t had any interaction with them since she arrived. 

She couldn’t move into the servants’ quarters now, not after spending close to a week living in one of the guest rooms. The male servants might get the wrong impression and think her fair game. 

For all of Mr. Gold’s ill habits and monstrous temper, she had to admit that on one score she was wrong about him. That first night she had blockaded the door in fear that he would force himself on her. From the way he reacted when Gaston implied that they were intimate, Mr. Gold considered her a lady. Counting all of her relations and newly made friends, he was the only one to treat her as such.

Her employer was not a good man; however, he was not as inherently evil as she had initially thought. Still, her character was a lost cause. 

#

Belle dropped the flower bulb in the hole she had dug and patted the dirt back into place. 

She sat back on her heels and surveyed her work. Ten bulbs planted and by next spring they would flourish into lovely little tulips. 

While there was an official gardener to oversee the property, she wanted to do something to beautify the grounds. There was such a coldness that hung in the air. With a little nurturing, the property could look welcoming. Perhaps in time it might feel like a home. 

“Belle? Belle, is that you?” A blithe, little voice called out. 

Belle glanced over her shoulder and saw her sister Eloise at a distance, on the road leading up to the house. She pushed herself up, wiped her filthy hands on her apron and ran to her sister. 

They rushed into each other’s arms, laughing and crying. 

“Eloise! I have missed you.” Belle said, as she pulled away. 

Her sister was pretty as usual. Her fine, mousy hair was drawn back tight enough that it stretched out her forehead. Her hazel eyes sparkled. “Home isn’t the same. We are all in chaos there. Patricia won’t stop crying and fears that the Beast will come and enslave her next.” Her sister grasped her hands. “Couldn’t you run away? Isn’t there some place you could go?”

“That would only infuriate Mr. Gold further and defeat the purpose. He would go after Father again.” Her mouth stretched into a mischievous smile. “I have a plan though.”

“Do tell.”

Belle directed Eloise to a stone bench where they could both rest. She looked around and was relieved to find no one in sight. “I am intentionally ruining his meals and have ‘accidentally’ broke some of his priceless trinkets. By the time I am finished, he will beg me to leave.”

Chipping that little cup had inspired much of her plan. That had been an accident, but the clumsiness afterwards… that had been deliberate. The other day she was alone, dusting in the library. Her mind wandered briefly and she gazed at those lonely books sitting on the shelf and yearned to read them. She had stepped back and bumped into a globe of the world. Nothing happened…until she gave it a hard shove and it shattered on the floor. 

Mr. Gold was irate and yelled at her for being so careless. Even so, the violence he was prepared to inflict on Gaston was never shown to her.

As penance, he had since exiled her from the library. Her only regret was that she could not look upon those lovely books. However, she was willing to pay that price if it meant she could go home sooner rather than later.

Eloise reached for her hands again and squeezed them. “In the end, this will all be worth it. You have Gaston Harcourt. How Patricia and I envy you. He is a fine specimen of a man.”

“Perhaps I don’t want Gaston. Why is Father set on him? Why is it that everyone in my life thinks I should wed him?” Belle groaned. She got up and paced in front of her sister. “I don’t love him. No matter what I say, Father is bent on me marrying him.”

Eloise dropped her gaze and placed her hands in her lap. 

“What is it? Talk to me!” Belle said. “I deserve to know!”

“Belle, the way you mourned for Mother after she died…it frightened us all.” Eloise said as gently as she could. “We saw your fragility. Father wants to be certain that you will be cared for. Considering Gaston’s secure position and his flawless character, Father thinks a union with him would be wise. In time, love will develop and you will have the same felicity that he and Mother had.” Her sister wiped her cheeks dry. “With the way you are, he is the only one who will take you without a dowry.”

Belle continued to pace. 

She had wanted to forget about those bleak months after Mother’s death and had assumed that the others put the past behind them too. There were moments when she pretended that that dark period never happened. However, the days where she could hardly move a muscle, lift her head off the pillow or brush her own hair often haunted her. A heavy shadow hung over her head and it only receded as of late. Something had reawakened inside of her and the burden had been lifted. Though that part of life was over, she feared that someday the melancholy would return and she would sink again.

Gaston may be offering her a way out, but she could not pay the price using her integrity. It would be akin to signing away her soul. 

Belle shook her head and said at last, “No. I would rather live with the Beast.”

“‘Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what hath light with darkness?’” Eloise haughtily recited. She gave her a reproving look. “Little sister, this is a dangerous game you are playing.”

“Perhaps. But I feel safer staying with this devil of a Beast than the godly, angelic Gaston.” Belle replied. “Better the devil you do know, than the devil you don’t.”

Once more the thought came to her that she was safer in Mr. Gold’s household than in her own Father’s. As old as Father was, if Gaston attacked her verbally or physically for refusing him, he would not be able to defend her. 

Mr. Gold was another story. If it came down to it, she knew that he would protect her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By chosing to live in the Dark Castle with a single/notorious man, unchaperoned is detrimental to Belle's reputation. A  
> man could go where he pleased, sow his wild oats and it could be hushed up or disregarded, but women weren't as free. The fact that Belle is sleeping across the hall from Adam implies intimacy. There is no avenue for her to recover her  
> reputation.
> 
> A dowry was an amount of money that the husband would receive after he married his wife. The money was an inducement into matrimony, to men who had nothing or to those who wanted to increase their fortunes. Being the daughter of a farmer who mismanaged his money, Belle has no dowry. Gaston views the French's farm as inducement to marry her. 
> 
> 2 Corinthians 6:14 encourages Christians not to join themselves to those who do not believe. Often they take it to also  
> mean that believers are not to love/marry unbelievers. Christians are associated with light whereas unbelievers are  
> associated with darkness. But sometimes things aren't always what they seem. In this verse, Adam is not as dark as he  
> seems whereas Gaston is a wolf in sheep's clothing.
> 
> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/127397938259/dark-night-of-the-soul-chapter-6


	7. Chapter 7

September 1813

Adam generally slept in later on Sabbath morns, but when he heard the hinges on the guestroom squeak as the door opened and closed, he groaned. Wiping the grit out of his eyes and sleepiness off of his face, he stirred not long after. When he was dressed and presentable, he made his way down the stairs and was heading for his library when he caught a whiff of fragrant strawberries. The smell was too potent to be one of the new maid’s perfumes. 

He followed the tantalizing scent to the dining room. 

Belle was laying out the meal, which was a concoction foreign to him. 

He sat down and studied what appeared to be a strawberry glaze and cream in a thinly folded pastry. He had his fork and knife primed above the dish as he paused. “Did you make this?”

“Yes.” She brought her hands behind her and rocked back on her heels, wearing a kittenish smile. “It is called a crepe. Another one of my Mother’s renowned recipes.”

After he had consumed the eggs and ham she had cooked him, it took hours for him to lose that nauseating aftertaste. He would have to have a long talk with the Cook and make her promise to not allow Belle anywhere near the stove. At first he thought she was an abysmal cook, but after querying his valet and the butler on what she did downstairs, he learned that she did have a certain amount of culinary skills. Whatever she made for herself or another servant turned out well. Only his meals were spoiled. 

He hadn’t thought her the conniving sort, but clearly his judgment was off where she was concerned. He ought to confront her about it, but for some reason he never did. 

Adam sighed. It was now or never. He cut into the pastry and stuck a forkful into his mouth. His eyes widened. The sweetness melted on his tongue. 

He chewed and swallowed, then pointed with the tip of his knife and said, “This actually tastes good.”

“Well, the Cook did help. Or rather I helped her. Still, it was my Mother’s recipe.” Her smile widened, making her look mischievous. 

He hoped and prayed that she didn’t lace this meal with a purgative. 

Rather than disappearing from his sight, she lingered. 

“Is there something else?” Adam asked. 

“Do you mind... would it be possible...”

“Just ask.” He said, cutting another flaky piece off. 

Belle clasped her hands together. “May I go to church?”

He rolled his eyes. No wonder she went to the trouble of cooking a scrumptious meal and did not meddle with it this time. She was trying to charm him into letting her have her way. He was about to refuse when he saw the hopeful expression on her face. The other servants would be attending church and had afternoons off, so why shouldn’t she? 

He shrugged nonchalantly. “By all means. I forgot what today was. I suppose everyone deserves a day off.” 

“Thank you.” She left, but seconds later returned to ask, “Would you like to join me? Mrs. Potts is coming too.” 

“No. I do have business in town, so I can take you in the carriage.” 

He really had no cause to be in Ashby, but it had rained during the night and he didn’t want to send her or Mrs. Potts off to church wading through seas of mud. They wouldn’t be fit to be seen. He didn’t much like the idea of these two ladies walking that far of a distance in the early morning either. Who knows what troubles they could come to? That Gaston Harcourt could be prowling out there somewhere. The other servants could take care of themselves, but these two, he felt as though they warranted his protection. 

While they surrendered their souls to God, he would find something productive to do and call after them when church let out. 

“Well, you are always welcome.” Belle nodded, turning once more to leave. 

Adam looked to the other end of the room and keenly felt its emptiness. He hadn’t dined with anyone in three years. Aside from him, his parlor was never occupied and except when he was discussing business with someone, no one set foot in his library. The life of an unhappy widower was a lonely one. The life of a former parent was an unrelenting agony. It was only the last couple of weeks, due to this infuriating girl’s presence, that he had put some of his grief aside. 

Why she stirred up long buried emotions was beyond him. Yet somehow she managed to do it and for the first time in years he felt alive. He was sleeping better and his appetite improved. Even the dark moods that he was prone to had faded. With her as a distraction, even those wretched thoughts of killing himself had gone away.

He suddenly got to his feet and tossed the napkin into his now empty plate. “Why do you never sit and eat meals with me?” 

“I am not your guest, Mr. Gold.” Belle furrowed her brow in confusion. “I eat in the kitchen, where the help should eat. Mrs. Potts and I dine together.” She made a small curtsy. “Pardon me. I have chores to attend to.”

“What if I wanted you... and Mrs. Potts here?” He figured if he hadn’t included Edna in the invitation, that Belle wouldn’t come at all. The housekeeper would be a nice buffer if they started to bicker.

“You would do well to ask.” Belle said, her chin raised. Her eyes narrowed through half-closed lids.

Adam ran his hand through his shaggy crop of hair. “Miss French, will you and Mrs. Potts do me the honor of dining with me from now on?” His throat felt thick and he couldn’t swallow. This choking sensation was happening more and more and he could not account for it. He tugged on his collar to relieve the pressure on his windpipe. “Only if you want to though. It is entirely up to you.”

Belle hesitated before she responded. “All right. We have eaten already this morning and our noon meal will be rushed because of church, but perhaps this evening.”

Adam nodded and watched her disappear down the stairs. He returned to the table and brought the coffee cup to his lips. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to be lonely or feel agony all the time. 

He chuckled to himself and took a drink, then quickly gagged it back into the cup. The sludge steamed like a pile of dung. 

“Damn it.” He shook his head. “That girl really cannot make a decent cup of coffee to save her life.”

Yes, he would have to have a long talk with the Cook.

#

Belle attired herself in her best frock, her blue muslin, which she reserved for church, parties and dances. She slid her feet into her white slippers. Normally she would have selected her everyday boots; however, Mr. Gold offered to transport her and Mrs. Potts to the church. Therefore she could spruce up and not worry about nature ruining her attire.

Stepping in front of the full length looking glass, she pinched her cheeks and moistened her lips. Why she was trying her hardest to look her best bewildered her. There was no one in the household to impress. The only ones she interacted with was Mrs. Potts and Mr. Gold. Now and then she found him watching her. She had assumed that he was looking for a reason to find fault with her. That was until this morning, when he invited her and Mrs. Potts to take their meals with him. The master of the house would never encourage servants to dine with him. Even in her childhood home, her parents would have never permitted the maid or the cook to sit down with them. 

It was not done.

He had looked at her differently, as though he wanted something from her. He was a lost soul, of that she was convinced. There was an emptiness inside of him, one that could not be filled by material possessions or wealth. One that could only be filled with love. But alas, who could love the Beast?

Belle drew her blue cape around her shoulders and tied it off at her neck. She grabbed her Bible and purse and headed down the stairs. 

Mr. Gold and Mrs. Potts were conversing until they heard her. 

“Your carriage awaits. Are you ready?” Mr. Gold asked, as the butler opened the door for them. 

“Yes.” Belle nodded. “Thank you for taking us.” 

“It is no matter.” He lowered his head.

She couldn’t help but smile. From her observations, that was his reply whenever someone thanked him. 

When they were settled in the coach, she looked down and noticed that Mrs. Potts’ hands were shaking. The older woman’s lips parted and her jaw trembled. Her round cheeks were as white as her hair. She was on the verge of crying. 

Belle coughed loudly into her hand and when she caught Mr. Gold’s attention, she directed it to the woman beside her. 

“Mrs. Potts?” Mr. Gold asked, “Are you all right? Are you ill?” The worry deepened the lilt in his voice. “Do you need for us to turn back?”

Mrs. Potts’ pensive expression was replaced with a strained smile. “Quite well, sir, thank you. I am only eager to be in the House of our Lord.” 

Belle knew that her friend was lying, though couldn’t figure out why. Mr. Gold looked uncertain as well. 

Mrs. Potts seemed to be devout in her faith. She hadn’t been to church in a while, likely due to Mr. Gold’s selfishness, but that was no fault of her own. Her lack of attendance shouldn’t weigh heavily on her conscience. Once she reached their destination, she would calm down. 

Not long after the coach entered Ashby, it pulled to the side of the road and stopped. The manmade pathway to the church was far too narrow for carriage wheels and had to be traversed on by foot. 

Mr. Gold climbed out first and first helped Mrs. Potts down. 

Belle made her descent and unknowingly felt her hand slide into his. When she was safe on firm ground, her hand continued to reside there. His grasp was warm, like a glove.  
“Have a good time.” He said. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” Belle asked. 

She slowly drew her hand from his and glanced about to ensure that no one had seen. It was not seemly for a single man and single woman to touch intimately in public. For them it was especially risqué, considering he was her employer and she was the hired help. 

“Pace yourself, Miss French.” Mr. Gold advised, his velvety eyes possessing a teasing glint. “You will be living under my roof long enough to convert me.”

“Come, dear, we will be late.” Mrs. Potts took her by the arm and led her off. 

Belle didn’t look back. They had walked a handful of strides before she heard the carriage wheels grinding and the horse hooves slapping in the wet mire. 

As she and Mrs. Potts neared the church, the older woman’s tremors grew more pronounced. Belle allowed her friend to lean on her. They shoved the towering burgundy doors of the church open and entered the dark building. The only rays of light came from the sun that shone through the stained glass windows and the candle light. 

Gooseflesh broke out all over her skin. It is colder inside than it is outside. Belle noticed. The Dark Castle is far warmer than church! She was about to greet the other parishioners when she looked up. 

Over a hundred people were turned to her, their faces full of scorn. One woman spit at the hem of her skirt and then spewed out a string of vicious words. The rector swung his arm out and pumping it towards the door. Commotion erupted and she soon felt as though the four walls were closing in on her. 

“Oh dear.” Mrs. Potts murmured under her breath. She leaned in to Belle. “This was not such a good idea. We should go.”

Belle hastened outside and Mrs. Potts was not too far behind. She ran under a willow tree, in hopes that its drooping fringes would conceal her. Leaning into the trunk, she clung to it to maintain her balance. 

“I don’t understand!” Belle managed to wheeze out in between gasping breaths. 

Everyone, even the clergyman and his wife, had turned against her. Surely it wasn’t that scandalous that she had entered into service. While it was a step-down in society, they had to understand that she was doing it for the sake of her Father and sisters. And to escape an unwanted marriage to a man she did not love. It was not as though servitude was the life she envisioned for herself.

“Don’t you?” Mrs. Potts hugged her from behind. “It is not suitable for a single woman to live in a single man’s household.” She dipped her head and whispered, “Word has spread that you do not reside in the servants’ quarters.”

“They have known me my entire life. How can they think that I would commit fornication?” Belle could no longer hold the tears back. “No one thinks less of you.”

“I am an old spinster, old enough to be his mother. They only view me as the housekeeper.” Mrs. Potts attempted to separate her from the tree. “Let’s find Mr. Gold and we can go home. Then everything will be all right.”

Mr. Gold was the last man in the world that she wanted to see. He was the cause of all this turmoil! She had to have some time away from the Dark Castle if she were to face him later. 

Belle shook her head. “No, I need to think.” She faced her friend. “A moment’s peace. I shall be back in a few hours.”

Mrs. Potts opened her mouth, but Belle broke away from her before the woman made any protests. 

Belle tugged her bonnet lower, to avoid looking the remainder of the townsfolk in the eye. Their accusing, hateful stares bore into her. She took the main road for a mile, turned south and cut across a field of freshly cut wheat. Upon reaching the woods, she ducked behind the trees and broke into a brisk run. Her bonnet blew back and hung by the ribbons at her neck. The hairpins loosened and her tresses fell in waves. 

She only slowed when she came to a pond. 

The clean scent of the clear waters refreshed her. Ashby Pond was her special place. It was the only place she could retreat to when her grief for Mother was too much to bear. In fact, it had been Mother who discovered this magical part of the woods and shared it with her.

She lowered onto a large rock and took a couple deep breaths. Her slippers were badly soiled and beyond hope of recovery. That was of little importance though. She was no longer welcome at church and wouldn’t be invited anywhere decent. Even when her time as a servant came to an end, no one would associate with her. Ashby wanted nothing to do with her. She would have to disappear from all good society and settle in Lower Ashby, where the harlots lived. 

She sighed. “I am ruined. What am I going to do?” Dropping her head into her hands, she wept. “My life is over!” 

#

Adam shifted from one foot to another and rested his shoulder on the window pane. He took a swig of tea before setting it back in its saucer. The dull view outside was beginning to make him drowsy. A cloud of mist rose off the grass, forming into a dense fog. The sky was as alabaster as a cheek of a woman and the sun had long since melted off.  
It had taken much persuasion for him to return home knowing that Belle was out there somewhere, however Mrs. Potts assured him that she needed time alone. Evidentially there was an incident at church and though he inquired the specifics, the housekeeper evaded his questions. As a man of the world, he was no fool. The town of Ashby considered him notorious, evil to the core and beyond redemption. For a young woman to choose to live in his household, unofficially as a servant, was scandalous enough. 

If Belle didn’t show up soon, he would go hunt her down himself. 

The door of the parlor opened. Belle? His heart jumped. 

He whirled around, nearly causing the chipped tea cup to topple over. 

Mrs. Potts stood before him, her hands clasped in front of her. 

Adam said, “Oh, it’s just you.”

“Mr. Gold,” Mrs. Potts approached and took the cup and saucer from him. “Standing there watching for her won’t bring her back sooner. Belle will return. This is her day off. She might very well be visiting her family. It had been awhile since she has seen them.”

“That is what I fear.” He grumbled. 

Though Belle was adverse to Gaston Harcourt’s advances, her family’s opinions and wishes might sway her. She loved those pathetic wretches more than they deserved. They could convince her that accepting Gaston’s suit was in her best interests. He supposed that if that were to happen, he could possibly reject Gaston’s money and then Belle would be obliged to stay on. There were also the papers she signed, though they would have no legal standing in the court of law. 

“Wait a minute.” Adam said. “I have no reason to worry. Miss French knows our agreement; she knows that I don’t forgive debts.”

“Yes, we are all well-aware that you lack compassion.” Mrs. Potts declared. She placed the cup on the tray and was ready to gather it all up. 

“I am what I am.” He bowed his head slightly. 

A spark of blue caught his eye. Belle was working her way up the lane. 

“There! There she is.” He pointed, sounding much too frantic.

A laugh gurgled from Mrs. Potts. She quickly covered her mouth. 

His gritted his teeth. “What?”

“You are acting like a lovesick schoolboy.” 

Adam snarled, “Don’t you have a doorknob to polish or something?”

Mrs. Potts clutched her hand to her bosom and released a small, “oh.”

Adam hurried past the housekeeper and turned into the hallway in time to come face to face with Belle. 

Her bonnet was in her hands and her hair was hanging loose about her shoulders. A thrill rushed through him. More than anything he wanted to run his fingers through her locks, examine its silkiness.

For a second he was dumbstruck. “H-how… how was church?”

“It has been better.” Belle said. Her eyes were red rimmed and her nose was pink. 

“Ah, well…One of the reasons I don’t attend church are the Christians. I know what I am, I don’t need a sanctuary full of people shaking their fingers at me telling me how to live my life or how to show mercy when they commit the same sins.” He said. “I already know I’m going to hell, I certainly don’t need the weekly reminder.”

“Mr. Gold, are you trying to make me feel better?”

“Perhaps.” He didn’t know why he felt guilty. It wasn’t a sensation that he was familiar with. Yet he knew that in this instance that he played a part in orchestrating the loss of her reputation. “Is it working?”

“It isn’t necessary.” She stepped past him without saying another word. 

He tried to keep up with her, but her strides were too quick for him. “When did you want to eat tonight?” He called out. “I mean, when do you usually eat, because I can wait until later-”

Belle halted and slowly turned around. “I am not hungry anymore.” Her icy gaze chilled him to the bone. The loathing she felt for him oozed from her. “I lost my appetite.”

“Is living here with me so awful?” He braced his palm against the heel of his cane. “Is it that unbearable to be in my presence, for even an hour?”

He had been more than generous to her, dealing with her ruining his meals and destroying his personal property. He hadn’t confronted her on her little deceits. With all intents and purposes, she was costing him more than what she was earning. She wasn’t living in the servants quarters and she wasn’t made to wear a servants’ garb. When that oaf Gaston Harcourt showed up, making threats and calling her everything but a lady, he was the one who defended her honor. If anything, since she arrived, she had added on to her debt to him.

“I am not about to feign happiness for your sake.” Belle inched closer until she was standing nose to nose with him. Though she was aware of what he as capable of, the harm he could cause her, she had no fear of him. The more her temper grew, the more she was emboldened. “You beat my father down, you shamed him, you were going to imprison him and you were going to steal my childhood home! You were going to throw my sisters and I out into the streets. You ruined my life! God help me, it takes every ounce of strength for me not to hate you. So forgive me if I can’t stand looking at you, let alone share a meal with you. I am your maid, but I am not your friend. And I never will be.”

Adam could feel his hands shaking. He longed to grab something and break it. Clearly she had no qualms with causing him pain, therefore why should he spare her shallow feelings? “Let’s review the facts, shall we, dearie? If your father felt any shame, that was his own doing. He was the one who approached me for a deal and then neglected to make the payments. I am not charitable, I don’t freely hand out money. Your father thought I would buckle because he had three pathetic, feather brained daughters to support. He was the one who concocted this inane indentured servitude scheme.” He extended his index finger and pointed directly at her. “And you were the one so desperate to escape an arranged marriage that you traded places with him. I don’t care about being liked; I care about getting what is due me.”

Belle released a gasp. If she was wounded by his words, she didn’t let it show. “Believe me, Beast, when it is all said and done, you will get exactly what is due you.” She replied. 

Unlike dozens of others, she was not backing down. Rather she was close enough that her sweet breath tickled his skin. Her mouth pursed. What would her lips taste like? The thought flickered through his mind before he could stop it. 

Adam sharply turned his heel and stalked to his library, slamming the door. The pictures on the walls rattled. With one swing of his cane, he knocked down a table and broke a priceless Ming vase.

He flung himself onto the bench at the spinning wheel. What the hell just happened? Were anyone of the other servants to show him such impudence, he would have cast them out. But with this one…

Adam swiped cuff of his sleeve across his mouth.

He had almost kissed her!

Adam faced the spinning wheel and set to work. Round and round it went, he watched it, almost mesmerized by it. He would put that little moment of pure insanity out of his mind. The wheel would help him forget, it always did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Scotland, Sunday was referred to as the Sabbath and was considered a day of rest for all. A servants workload was lightened. Also, those in service would have one afternoon off per week. 
> 
> Servants never dined with their employers. It just was not done. For Adam to make this invitation implies that he considers Belle more of a guest in his household than the help. 
> 
> Adam does spin wool; although it is more of a hobby than anything.
> 
> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/127944155364/dark-night-of-the-soul-chapter-7


	8. Chapter 8

Belle knelt on the checkered foyer floor and busied herself with wiping down the woodwork when Mrs. Potts rushed past, toting a bucket of sudsy water up the stairs to the second story. Under her free flabby arm was a bundle of cleaning rags. The woman’s stopped midway and sank to the stair, careful not to upturn the water. The cloths dropped and unraveled on the steps. A throaty cough wracked her curvy frame. 

Belle threw down her cloth and desperately climbed the stairs. She cupped Mrs. Pott’ face and patted her cheeks to revive the color. Her skin was hot and clammy to the touch. “Mrs. Potts, what is it? Should I fetch a doctor?” 

Belle laid her newly calloused palm on the woman’s brow. Her friend was burning up. No wonder the poor thing was lightheaded, she had a fever. 

“Nay, it is only a bad turn.” Mrs. Potts insisted, however her labored breathing betrayed her vulnerability. She sniffed through her congested nose. “I caught Ella’s cold, I think. Terrible, isn’t it? One maid and the housekeeper ill at the same time. We will all fall behind and then how will it look? Someone could be dismissed.” She clenched her eyes shut. 

Perhaps that fragile moment that struck Mrs. Potts in the coach when they were on their way to church was the beginnings of this malady. She ought to have known then that something was wrong with her friend. If only she hadn’t been so wrapped up in her petty concerns. 

Certainly Mr. Gold wouldn’t… Belle shook her head to dispel such thoughts. She had begun to believe that Mr. Gold had a little goodness in his soul. However, their argument last Sunday brought her back to reality. Her employer was not a good man and he showed no remorse for how he mistreated others. He was only ever kind when it suited him. Mr. Gold would throw out the maid and Mrs. Potts and not give them a second thought! That was why Mrs. Potts was taking on Ella’s responsibilities, to protect the girl. Their ailments would solicit no pity from him.

Belle could not allow either Mrs. Potts or Ella to face the employer’s wrath not when they were feeling so poorly. The least she could do is take up the brunt of the work.  
“Nonsense, that is why I am here.” Belle reached for her friend’s cracked hand and squeezed it. “I shall help. Where should I begin?”

Mrs. Potts looked as though she were about to shed tears of relief. She pressed her ring of keys into Belle’s hand. “The whole west wing needs a thorough going over. It will take you all of today and most of tomorrow. Don’t worry about seeing to anything else.” Belle was about to gather up the cloths when Mrs. Potts drug her back down. In her desperation, her friend pleaded, “Belle, please, do not trifle with the master’s personal affects today.”

“Mrs. Potts, I-” 

“I know what you have been up to and I don’t judge. Believe me, I understand better than anyone how infuriating the master is. I also know how unhappy you are.” Mrs. Potts gave her cheek a maternal pat. “But Mr. Gold has been in such a dark mood since last Sunday. He will take it out on us. He might very well dismiss someone out of spite since he cannot get rid of you.”

As great as her desire was to return home, Belle didn’t wish for anyone else to be punished for her misdeeds. Circumstances would have to calm down before she resumed her plan. Until then she had to be on her best behavior, for the sake of the whole household. 

“Not to worry, I will be good. I promise.” Belle assisted the older woman to her feet and then collected the rags and the bucket. “Go rest a spell, put your feet up. If you need anything, send for me.”

Mrs. Potts wobbled down the stairs, waving her worries off. The poor woman took too much upon herself. She was at the age where her working days would soon come to an end. Her occupation would become too much for her to handle. One thing was for certain, Mr. Gold would never show her friend any consideration. Though it was obvious to her that the man genuinely liked his housekeeper, he would be the last to notice the woman’s troubles. His servants were no more than an afterthought. Nothing more than a speck of dust in God’s Eye. The world revolved around him and him alone.

“It is a good thing I am here.” Belle was surprised by her own words. Perhaps she was meant to relieve Mrs. Potts of some of her duties. 

She entered the first room and while only slightly dusty, it took her half an hour to clean it from top to bottom. The three following rooms were much the same. The second she laid her hand on the door knob of the room at the far end of the west wing, a chilling sensation shot through her petite frame. There is something different about this room. 

Twisting the handle, she pushed the door open and a cloud of dust assailed her. The room was coated in a fine, white powder and the dirty air made her choke. Spider and cobwebs shimmered, the threaded cords dangling from the ceiling.

Setting down the bucket and rags, she went to the window and wrenched it open. Only then was she able to breathe in the fresh, cool autumn air. 

Belle pressed her fist to her chest and she wheezed. She turned around and gasped. 

A tiny bed, shrouded in a canopy of creamy lace was situated against one wall. There was a chair nearby, for a parent or nanny to sit in. A variety of toys was scattered throughout the room, on the bed, the shelves and on the rug. It looked as though a child had been in the middle of playing and just got up and walked off. 

“Good heavens!” She exclaimed. “Why, this is a nursery!”

Mr. Gold was a father! The very idea of him having a child was inconceivable. What woman in her right mind could love such a beast? The lady must have come to her senses, took the child and run off. That was the only plausible explanation. Society would frown on an act and deem it sinful, but who could fault Mrs. Gold? If that were the case, then Mr. Gold deserved to be alone. 

_I was right. He got exactly what was due him._ Belle thought smugly.

A man like that had no right to be a husband, let alone a father. While his wife must have faced opposition, she had done the brave thing spiriting herself and that poor child off. A good and loving mother could do nothing less. 

Her attention was drawn to a ceramic horse on a nightstand. It looked familiar… She picked it up and examined it. Ah, of course, there was a similar figurine on her employer’s desk in the library. The only difference was that one was wooden and older. 

Darkness swept through the room, as the sun rolled behind the clouds. The temperature dropped at least ten degrees in a matter of seconds. The chill of death tainted the air.

The outline of a shadow, emanating from the door way, fell on the opposite wall. And then on her.

“What are you doing here?” Mr. Gold drew closer and then paused. 

Belle whirled around, letting out a yelp. The horse slipped from her fingertips and shattered on the floor. 

“I asked you what you were doing in here.” He set the point of his cane on top of the broken pieces and ground the remainder of the horse into powder. “This room is closed off for a reason.”

He didn’t have to offer up a single word of explanation. The dead look in his brown eyes was telling. His child wasn’t lost to him…the child was dead. 

“I-I didn’t know.” Belle gripped the hem of her apron and twisted it. “I thought Mrs. Potts and the others forgot about it. I didn’t realize-”

“Get out.” His voice was so low that it was barely audible. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gold. I really didn’t mean to break your child’s… that horse.” She winced. Though she despised him greatly, she hadn’t meant to wound him in that sense. To mention his dead child to his face was beyond cruel. 

“Get out! Now, get out!” He stomped his cane on the floor.

Belle froze, too paralyzed to move. He was going to thrash her just as he had thrashed Gaston! I am going to die! 

Mr. Gold seized her by the forearm and propelled her out into the hallway, before going back inside and slamming the door. Seconds later she heard multiple pieces of glass breaking. She didn’t know why he sent her out when he had the perfect opportunity to throttle her, if that was what he planned on. Well, she was not going to give him another chance. For all she knew, as vicious as he was, he would kill her. 

Belle fled to her bedroom, in the east wing of the house, and threw on her cloak. Pulling on her bonnet, she whispered, “I can’t do it, I can’t stay here. He is a monster. I hate him!” 

The sounds of crashing echoed throughout the house. If she were going to escape, she would have to do it now. Considering what he did to a man as big as Gaston, Mr. Gold could shake the life out of her! Her belongings didn’t matter; such material possessions could be replaced. 

She took a deep breath and ran through the hall, down the stairs and straight out the front door. The butler Cogsworth shouted after her, but she paid him no mind. Even if Mr. Gold were watching her from the window, he could never catch up to her, not with his crippled leg. Only her family knew the location of her secret place and they would never tell him. 

Belle ran until she made it to the woodland. Only then did she feel safe and slow her pace. Her lungs constricted, her ridges of her ribs stuck out. When she caught her breath, she went deeper into the woods, disregarding the mud that soiled her skirt and petticoats, and the skeletal branches that clawed at her skin. Until she could figure out what could be done, she would hide in her place of refuge. 

#

Adam spent the rest of the day in Bae’s old nursery. The servants knew not to disturb him and Belle would keep her distance for a while. When he finished throwing things, he collapsed on the floor by his son’s bed. He folded his arms on his knees and rested his forehead on his limbs. 

He had spent many an hour watching his son sleep, hoping that the poor boy would be strong enough to make it to the next day. After Bae died, he would go sit in there and grieve, but then he got to the point that he couldn’t look upon anything that belonged to his son. Especially the room. The room was then closed off ever since and no one set foot in it, as if it were a holy shrine forbidden to those unworthy. He tried to live as though that period of his life- marriage and fatherhood- had never occurred. It was the only way he could cope. But the memories plagued him constantly and always flung him back into the real world.

He awoke on the floor the next morning, his spine resting against the side of the bed, his head falling back. He squeezed the base of his neck, to relieve the crick in it. The wind whistled through the open window, followed by the scent of wet air. It had been foolish of him to fall asleep on a dirty floor with air seeping in. There was a wee nip to it. Such carelessness could lead to pneumonia. Not that I would be lucky enough to die. Providence was determined to make him live and watch him suffer from afar. 

Shrugging off his weariness, he left the boy’s room locked up and went to his own to wash up and change his clothes. 

Adam made it to the dining room an hour later than usual. One of the footmen served him his eggs and ham. While it was made by the Cook, unspoilt by Belle and smelled delicious, he wasn’t hungry. His stomach rolled within him. If he had spent the night guzzling Scotch, he couldn’t have felt worse. 

Whenever the door opened and a servant breezed through, he held his breath, hoping that it was Belle. Yet he was left disappointed. She never did show.

Lost in his own musings, he didn’t come to until a woman cleared her throat. He instantly knew the voice belonged to Mrs. Potts. Her reproving gaze was worse than that of a haughty archbishop. 

“I suppose Miss French is avoiding me.” He said. 

Mrs. Potts shifted and crossed her arms. “More than that. Belle is gone.”

Adam raised his head. “What do you mean?”

Had Belle sent for her father or that dolt Gaston Harcourt? Had they reclaimed her? Certainly she wouldn’t have gone with them willingly, not when an unwanted arranged marriage awaited her. 

“She ran away. Not that I blame her. Cogsworth said he saw her flea out the door after you had your childish little tantrum.” Mrs. Potts moved forward, forgetting her place. She genuinely cared more about Belle than her own employment. The woman’s heart was bigger than her sense. “Belle didn’t deserve your wrath. I was the one who neglected to warn her about that room. If you want to blame someone, blame me. But you must conquer your temper or you will ruin this.”

She was growing louder by the word, causing him to fear that if the other servants heard her impertinence, they might mimic her. Coupled with how Belle behaved in his presence and left without his permission, the others might form a coup against him. The last thing he wanted was to deal with unruly servants.

Adam threw his napkin down, shot to his feet and stalked to the door. 

“Where are you going?” Mrs. Potts demanded. 

“Where do you think? To bring her back.” He said, over his shoulder. “She has not fulfilled her end of the bargain.”

“Mr. Gold, you have to apologize to her for your behavior. Otherwise she won’t come back.”

“I never apologize.” He didn’t bother to wait for his housekeeper’s response. “If anything, she will be apologizing to me!”

He barked an order for the butler to call for his carriage. Within a matter of minutes, he was on his way to the French farm. A trip that should have taken twenty minutes seemed to take twice as long. His mind was too engaged with thoughts of Belle causing turmoil in his household while she spent a leisure night with her family. The girl had no concept of what servitude was. Not only did it make him look the fool, it wasn’t fair to the others for them to perform her chores.

The second the carriage stopped in front of the farm, Adam barreled out before the coachman could wait on him. He wrinkled his nose.

The French property was in far worse condition than it had been a month prior. Murky waters stood in tall puddles in the fields and reeked of a stale stench. Had the drainage worked properly, the French’s wouldn’t be in such dire straits and their crops could have turned a profit. The modest house, though built on solid structure, was in bad need of repairs. If allowed to continue to decay on the outside, the problem would work its way inward. 

Adam pounded on the front door and decided that if someone didn’t answer, he would barge in. 

A brunette woman appeared and flinched when she saw him. “Good heavens! What do you want?” 

“Your souls.” He snapped. 

The young woman went white as her dress. She really believed that she was face to face with the devil. 

He muttered a curse. “What do you simpletons think? Where is your youngest sister, Belle? And don’t trifle with me; patience is not one of my greater virtues.”

Another girl, with blonde locks, appeared behind the other one. “Oh, Eloise!” She howled, her cries shriller than a banshee. “The Beast has come to drag us into servitude too!” 

“Isn’t Belle enough?” The one called Eloise demanded, gathering her sister in her arms. They clung to one another as though they were about to die. “Must you wreak havoc on our lives too?” 

“Girls, what is it?” Their father appeared, pushing the two girls aside. The older man’s red-streaked eyes bulged. “You.”

Adam pinched the bridge of his nose. A migraine was coming on. “I see that Belle was the sole recipient of the brains and beauty in this family.” He was grateful that Belle was the generous one of the girls; had the other two volunteered to work for him, he would have lost his sanity early on. 

“This is still my property, therefore leave.” Maurice thrust his forefinger downwards. 

“You know why I am here.” Adam sighed. He wished they wouldn’t feign ignorance; it was much too tiring for him. “Belle is missing. Bring her out here at once.” He ordered through clenched teeth. 

Maurice stepped forward, his fist balled. “I warned you not to hurt her.” 

“I didn’t, I swear.” Guilt suddenly prickled his conscience. He hadn’t laid a finger on her, yet there was more than one way to wound person. He inhaled. “I yelled at her and that may have been wrong, but give me some credit, I would never harm a hair on her head.” 

A smirk tugged at Maurice’s fleshy lips. “Are you in love with her, Beast?” The man was enjoying his discomfort. “I hope she breaks your heart.”

“Shut up!” Adam yelled. Heat flooded his cheeks. “Shut the hell up!”

He didn’t have the heart to deny because deep down he knew it was true. When had he fallen in love with Belle? Was it when she spoiled his meals or broke his possessions? Or maybe it was when she spent more time gazing longingly at his books in his library rather than dusting it No… it was the first time he saw her, perched in that maple tree like a little dove. 

“Where is she?” Adam gripped the handle of his cane to keep from smacking that smile from Maurice’s face. 

“Even if I knew where Belle was, you would be the last person I would tell.” Maurice’s smugness began to fade and he covered his mouth. “I shouldn’t have let her go with you. She doesn’t deserve this. This is my fault.”

One of the feather-headed girls blubbered, “Father, no! It is his fault.” 

His heart pounded faster, the truth dawning on him. Belle really wasn’t with her family and had been unaccounted for for hours. Since yesterday afternoon, in fact.

The poor thing had been out all night, in the rain and alone. Belle could catch her death of cold. Who knows what perils could have befallen her? What if she was trying to reach her family and encountered someone unsavory? He’d never forgive himself if something happened to her.

“Feel sorry for yourself later, Mr. French. We have to find Belle now. I don’t expect you to help me. I just want to know she’s safe.” Adam braced his hand against the door frame. “Think about it, what if she is in trouble or hurt?”

“And now, thanks to you, neither one of us know where she is. You are a monster, Mr. Gold.” Maurice cleared his throat and then spat at his feet. His white phlegm landed on his shoe, but Adam hardly noticed. “I would rather her fall victim to wild beasts than fall into your clutches again.”

The daughter, the one called Eloise gaped at her father in astonishment. Yet she did not utter a word against the man and meekly trailed him and the other daughter back into the house. Not a one of the French’s was particularly concerned that one of their own was missing and could be in jeopardy. 

Adam wandered off the stoop, unable to believe his ears. Maurice would rather have Belle torn from limb to limb, carried off by gypsies or lying in a ditch dead than for her to return to his home. How could a parent be so uncaring, that he would allow his vengeance to cloud his judgment?

Where is she? He racked his brain and could not recall Belle ever talking of friends. Those she had considered her Christian brethren had scorned her the day she went to church. She would not go to them. She was religious, so perhaps she would go to the rectory for assistance. However the rector was known far and wide to be a hard man. The clergyman would not permit her in his home, not with her character in question. 

What if Gaston had stumbled upon her and harmed her? He was the kind of fellow who might harm a lass if things didn’t go his way. Adam swore to himself that if that scoundrel hurt her, he would strangle him with his bare hands. 

“Mr. Gold, wait!” A faint voice broke into his thoughts. The girl, Eloise, was standing at his side, too timid to look him in the eye. She moved so quietly that he had not heard her come out of the house. “I don’t like you, but I think you genuinely care for my sister. Belle has a special place, in the woods by Ashby pond. She and our Mother visited it quite often, when Mother was alive. If she would go anywhere, that would be it.” She dared to raise her gaze to his. “Please, take care of her. If you don’t, no one else will.”

Adam nodded. “I will, I promise.” He started to walk off and then turned back to her and said, “Thank you.”

Eloise scampered back inside. 

The woods and the pond itself were not far, however there was no road wide enough for his transportation. And the wheels of his carriage would be caught in the wet grass if he had it driven through the field. He would have to get there by foot. 

“Please let me get there in time.” Adam whispered, though he didn’t know to whom he was speaking to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belle discovering the forbidden room and that Adam had a child that died is this story's version of the Disney movie "Beauty and the Beast" Belle discovery of the wilting rose. 
> 
> The maid briefly mentioned in here, named Ella, was named after "Once Upon a Time" Ella (Cinderella/Ashley). 
> 
> The butler mentioned throughout the story was named after Cogsworth who was the clock in the Disney movie "Beauty and the Beast."
> 
> In this verse, Maurice takes after "Once Upon a Time" Maurice/Moe French. He tries to be a good father, but rather than let Belle live her own life, he attempts to make her choices for her. Unfortunately due to his actions, he puts Belle in further danger. 
> 
> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/128478500274/dark-night-of-the-soul-chapter-8


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning:  
> There is an attempted rape in this chapter. The Cane of Feelings (a.k.a. Gold cane beating someone) makes another appearance.

The shower tapered off and filled the air with a sharp bite. Thousands of invisible needles prickled her lungs. Belle tightened the cloak around her shivering frame, however it provided her scant warmth. Her cloak was chilled, having soaked up the rain that had blown in on her. The trees above acted as a protective parasol and shielded her from most of the precipitation. 

_I should return to the Dark Castle._ She scolded herself. “This is utter foolishness.” 

She hadn’t a cent to her name nor had she a crumb of food to eat in hours- not even a dry frock to change into. For years she believed herself to be the intelligent one of the family and now one silly act led to leaving herself vulnerable. The smartest thing she could do was go back to Mr. Gold, swallow her pride, apologize and beg for his forgiveness.

Yet after what had transpired between them, she didn’t know if he would welcome her back. He might not want to hear her apologies. She had been a witness to his various emotions, from the frightening ones to the milder ones. The only exception was the expression he had the day before, when she trespassed into his child’s nursery and broke that figurine. He was seething with an unchecked rage. 

One swing of his cane and he could kill her. He could dispose of her body and no one would know she was gone. 

More than once she considered going home to her family, but then they all would be in the same predicament that they were before. Mr. Gold would be after her family again for his money, threatening to take their farm. Surely by now another servant had noticed her absence and word had gotten back to her Father. Why hadn’t he or Eloise come to rescue her? 

She bent over and grabbed a handful of smooth pebbles. One by one she pelted them into the pond and watched as they skittered across the transparent surface. When she was finished, she wiped her palms on her soiled apron. 

Leaves began to crackle, followed by twigs and the crunching of sandy earth, creating a noisy rhythm. Someone is coming! While it was not the repetitive pattern of the step and thump, step and thump of her employer’s stride and his cane, she prayed that it was him. 

“Mr. Gold, is that you?” Belle whirled around and stood on tiptoe. She took a deep breath. “Are you there? Mr. Gold? I’m sorry for what happened. Please forgive me.”

The lower branches and foliage parted as a figure emerged from the shadows- one taller and broader than her employer. 

The second his cobalt eyes clamped on her, Gaston Harcourt hastened to her, grasping her hand and pressed it to his muscular chest. “Belle, thank the Lord I found you first. I was at your house when we learned of your absence and your Father has sent me to fetch you. The Beast is on his way. At least Mr. Gold’s limp is good for something.” He gave a throaty laugh. “He is as decrepit as an old man.”

“Don’t be cruel, Mr. Harcourt.” Disgusted, Belle recoiled from him. Once more she wiped her palm on her apron, this time to wipe off his essence. “That is not funny.”

Mr. Gold may not have been her favorite person, but to ridicule him for being lame was beyond harsh. The man had succumbed to some accident and that was nothing to laugh at about. Even if her employer was not likeable, he ought to at least be pitied for his affliction. 

“Never mind him. He is not worth a moment of our consideration. Let us set our thoughts on more pleasurable things.” Gaston shook his head and spread his arms open to coax her into his embrace. “Now, my darling, I can protect you. I spoke to Sherrif Nottingham. If you stay with me, he will arrest Mr. Gold for holding you captive and compromising you. That Scotsman will pay for what he has done to you and your family.”

“That is not what happened. I was working off our debt.” Belle backed away. “I chose to be there.”

“Ridiculous. Why would anyone choose to be with him?” It was as though he hadn’t heard her. His piercing gaze was unnaturally fixated on her as he laid his hand on her arm. She felt soiled by his touch. “Come here-”

Belle fended him off and stomped her foot. Her heel sank into the runny mire. “No! Gaston, I know what this is. I won’t marry you.”

The adoring look he had gradually disappeared and a hardened one replaced it. She couldn’t understand why he was determined to pursue her when she made it absolutely clear that his suit was repulsive to her. The last time he had spoken to her, he verbally attacked her for rejecting him, calling her a reprehensible word and now he was playing the part of the ardent lover. None of it made sense. Unless…she had something that he wanted. But what? She was nothing more than a poor farmer’s daughter. There was no dowry to tempt him nor would Father be able to compensate him in the distant future. 

Except for the farm. Of course! Unlike Mr. Gold, he had no legal avenue of claiming her family’s farm. However, if he married her, his chances of getting his hands on it improved. 

“The farm. You want the farm too.” Belle declared firmly. “I am going to return to Mr. Gold. It is the right thing to do.”

Gaston swore out loud, using words that were foreign to her. “You little wench.” In one swift moment, he seized her by the wrists and hissed in her ear. His thick breath churned her stomach. “What everyone in Ashby is saying is true. You are damaged goods. You’re a whore. You lie with that monster, but refuse me.” 

He crushed his mouth to hers, not only to silence but to punish her. He tasted of stale port. 

Belle tore her lips from his and pleaded, “No, don’t. Please, don’t!” His menacing grip would leave striped purple bruising. If his fingers were any tighter, they would snap her bones in two. “You’re hurting me!”

“Shut up.” Gaston raised his hand to slap her and then thought better of it. He petted the side of her face, which to her felt worse than being hit. “At the very least you owe me this.” He untucked his shirt and began to unbutton his trousers. 

She started to shake. He was going to rape her! 

“Someone, help! Please, help me!” Belle screamed until her throat was raw. Her cry echoed off of the trees and throughout the woods but no one was out. The rains had driven the men inside from their shooting. 

“No one can hear you, no one is going to save you.” Gerald trailed a line of slobbery kisses down her neck, like a slimy snail. “No one will ever know, no one will ever believe you. Especially after you sullied yourself with that Beast.”

 _Dear God, save me!_ Where would she turn to after he dishonored her? If all of Ashby rejected her for entering into service to a man they despised, then they would never look upon her again once Gaston molested her. He would let everyone believe that she had fallen from grace by living with the Beast and he was doing his Christian duty by wedding her. Then she would have to face him and endure whatever abuse he had in store for her, day after day.

Gaston grappled her to the ground and had snaked his hand under her skirt until he let out a grunt. His eyes bulged from their sockets. His grip on her loosened and rolled onto his back. The shock remained displayed on his face. 

Belle scrambled to her feet and dashed to the nearest tree for support. Pink lines streaked her white wrists and forearms, an impression left from Gaston’s fingers.  
Uncertain as to what happened; she glanced back at her attacker and then at her savior. 

Mr. Gold was standing over Gaston. He brought his cane down on the man twice more and raised it again, this time his eyes directed at the man’s head. He was contemplating taking the man’s life. 

_Let him do it._ Then she would be rid of both him and Gaston. Her family and their home would be safe and she wouldn’t have to marry anyone.

 _No, I can’t do that!_ She shook her head. Mr. Gold had rescued her from defilement and from society exiling her. Essentially he saved her life. The very least she could do is spare him from making the biggest mistake of his life. 

Belle hastened to Mr. Gold and wrapped her arms around him, pinning his arms down. “Mr. Gold, stop!” She took his face into hands and forced him to focus on her. “Stop! If you kill him your life will be ruined.”

For the first time in their acquaintance, she detected the softness in his velvety eyes and she felt something stirring within her. 

Gaston was lolling about in the mud moaning, his arms up to guard himself from further blows. His desperate wails fell on deaf ears. Though she loathed Gaston, she didn’t wish to see him murdered. Especially since it would be at the hands of her employer.

Mr. Gold nodded slightly and pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand. 

He broke away from her to address Gaston once more. He poked the base of his cane into the man’s chest. “Don’t ever come near Belle again. If you speak to her or so much as blink in her direction, I will kill you.” His Scottish burr thickened to the point it was nearly discernable. “So help me God, I will. Go on, get!” Using the toe of his boot, he kicked a clump of dirt in the man’s face. 

Gaston crawled over to the boulder and groaning, he pushed himself up. Hunched over, like the wicked man in the Proverb he fled. The man never once looked back nor was he sorry for the suffering he caused her.

Mr. Gold did not pursue him. He took short ginger steps towards her, as though he feared his presence might cause her further pain.

Belle covered her mouth and dissolved into sobs. Her breathing became labored. She reached out to her employer and shakily said, “Th-thank you for h-helping me. I’m sorry-” 

Mr. Gold cupped her face with his hands. “Calm down. It will be all right. I won’t let Gaston hurt you.” He brushed his knuckles against her wet cheek. “I apologize for lashing out at you yesterday. I’m sorry, all right? Very sorry.”

Her trembling was becoming more pronounced. She briefly rested her forehead on his shoulder. “Can we go home now?” she asked. 

He laid his hand on the back of her neck and then stroked the damp stands of her hair. “Of course.” After pressing his lips to her forehead, he slid his arm around her waist and parting from her he said, “Now, lean on me, sweetheart.” 

I must look a sight. She thought. Between the rain, the mud and Gaston’s rough treatment, her frock and apron was beyond salvaging. The skirts were soiled beyond six inches deep. Her curls hung limply, weighed heavily down by rain water. 

Belle shivered as she took one uneasy step after another. 

“Wait a moment.” Mr. Gold shrugged his overcoat off and draped it over her shoulders. He buttoned it up for her; even so, it hung on her petite frame. 

“Thank you, Mr. Gold,” Belle whispered and soon fell in step beside him. 

His arm settled back on her waist, fitting there perfectly. She was grateful for his protection.

#

Adam paced the length of his bedroom floor for what felt like the hundredth time. Never mind that his footsteps were making the floor boards squeak and might be keeping others awake. He slept a few hours but was too worked up to lay wide-eyed in one place. His mind was too full of all that had occurred…and of Belle. 

He had managed to get Belle into the carriage on his own. For the duration of the ride home, he kept on his side to give her the space she needed. Ecstasy. That is what he felt when he had his arm around her. Nothing would suit him better than to once more hold her close and kiss her properly, but now was not the time. To take advantage of her vulnerability would be heartless. 

Belle uttered nary a word the whole trip. Her eyes glistened and she sniffed often, but would not allow herself to weep. 

Adam pretended not to notice and averted his gaze. He hadn’t the words to console her and would only botch a heartfelt conversation. There was no doubt in his mind that she was an innocent, unaware of how it could be between a man and a woman. He wanted to relay to her that the evil Gaston attempted against her was a perversion of something that could be beautiful, but to put that in words was impossible. Perhaps Mrs. Potts could smooth that over. 

When the coach rolled onto his property, Mrs. Potts practically flew down the stairs and out to meet them. The housekeeper took charge of the situation and guided the younger woman into the castle. He numbly trailed after them, cursing his limp. If only he could walk normally, he could have carried Belle inside. Then he could have fulfilled his role of a hero, like the ones in the books she always read. Instead he had to let others care for her. Propriety dictated that he maintain his distance until she regained her composure and repaired her toilette. 

Mrs. Potts saw to it that Belle had a hot bath and something to eat before the young woman retired to her room. That was hours ago and he hadn’t seen her since.

Adam jerked. The damn little bird had popped out of the vibrant Swiss cuckoo clock on the mantle of his room’s fireplace. It read 5:00am. There was no use to try and sleep now. He dressed and ambled down two flights of stairs to the kitchen. 

As he passed by Mrs. Potts in the stairwell, he told her, “When Belle rises, please ask her to wait for me in the parlor.” 

“But-” Mrs. Potts held up a finger. 

“Also, inform her she is not required to work today.” 

He ignored the other slack-jawed servants as he made his way to the stove. Most of them had never seen him enter their territory. They cowered in the corner, exchanging hushed whispers, fearing he was about to tear into them. The Cook was too flustered to question him and lurked off to the side, twisting her flour stained apron into knots. The red-cheeked, chapped handed woman had to remember the last time he had come down, though it had been eons ago. 

He shot the Cook a scathing look, cautioning her not to make any comments. It was a silent little secret that they shared, one that she would take to her grave. 

Plunking down the pot on the heated stove, Adam melted a bar of chocolate and whipped fresh cream that came directly from the cows. It was the only thing he knew how to make. His son had loved it and requested it time and time again, that he had the Cook instruct him how to cook it that way he wouldn’t have to wait for a servant to do it. What gurgled in the pan was a concoction that had the most extraordinary effects on those who consumed it. He drained it into the small white, blue rimmed chipped tea cup.

In the beginning, he hadn’t known why he kept that chipped cup. Everything else Belle had broken had been disposed. But there was something special about this little cup. The little flaw in it had given it character. Well, he didn’t know if it mattered to her or if she cared about it, but it meant something to him. 

He carried the steaming brew up to the parlor. 

Belle was reclining on one of the chaise lounges and only turned to him when he cleared his throat. 

She accepted the proffered cup and inhaled its soothing scent. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Gold.” She blew on it and took a sip. “This is one of my favorite drinks.”

Adam nodded. “Chocolate is a balm for any wounded soul.” He shook open his newspaper and read while she partook of her drink.

His fury resurged when he saw the streaks of violet on her arms and wrists. Gaston had left his mark on her and he could only hope that it hadn’t troubled her heart too greatly. 

“When you are finished with that, there is something I want to show you.” He quickly added. “There is no hurry; take your time.”

A half an hour lapsed before she announced that she was ready. Adam offered his arm to her and though she looked at him warily, she held on to him. He led her to his library. 

He lifted his hand. “This is what I wanted to show you.”

“Mr. Gold, I have seen your library. I dust it often enough, or at least I did until I broke your globe.” Playfulness tainted Belle’s words and sent a thrill through him. She was teasing him. He didn’t mind, in fact, he liked it. 

The day before, when Belle had asked to return with him, she had called the Dark Castle “home.” Her home. For him that was monumental. She no longer viewed this place as a prison. No one who entered this building looked upon it as a home. Those who did come never stayed long and were out as soon as possible. 

“I want you…I want...” He sat on the edge of his desk and gestured for her to have a seat in one of the visitor’s chairs. “I hope you know that you are welcome to read any of these books. If there is any that you would like to keep personally, then by all means, please do. This library does not get enough use, therefore I would like you to have it at your leisure.”

Belle dropped into the chair, clearly taken aback by his offer. She surveyed the room, her eyes flittering over the hundreds of titles that he owned. The way she looked at books and by the gentle way she handled them, he could tell that her affection for the written word extended past love. 

She cherished books. 

Her full lips spread into a genuine smile. In the history of their acquaintance, it was the first kind one she had given him. “I…I do love books.” 

“A room without books is like a body without a soul.” He said. “Not quite so beastly now, am I?”

“You are not who I thought you were. And I’m glad.” She looked down at her shoe tops and said in a small voice, “Thank you for protecting me. And for bringing me back here.”

Adam bowed his head a degree. “Any man worth his salt would assist a lady in that sort of distress. Where did you encounter the likes of...”

“Mr. Harcourt? I have known him since childhood. His father was friends with my father. After the elder Mr. Harcourt passed, Gaston looked upon my father as a mentor. Farm life did not suit him, therefore after serving in the navy he made his fortune and became a gentleman.” She hugged herself. “He seemed harmless; he professes to be a Christian. He is nothing more than a wolf in sheep’s clothing.” 

“Aye. ‘Not everyone who saith unto me, Lord, Lord will enter the kingdom of Heaven.’” Her smile widened when he quoted that verse. He coughed into his fist. Before she could engage him on a discussion about religion, he changed the subject. “One good smack on the head with my cane, the waters would have washed him away. Gaston wasn’t worthy of your mercy.”

“Oh, I didn’t intervene for his sake.” Belle slid her hand into his and laid her other on top of it. She meant nothing by it, other than a extending him an olive branch. “If you had taken his life, you would have been convicted and executed. Or you could have been shipped off to Australia. You would have been a murderer. It would have weighed heavy on your conscience.”

“No, it wouldn’t have.” His mouth twisted into a grimace and he shook his head. “It has been a long, long time…years in fact, since I have done anything nice for someone else.”

“Be that as it may, I am thankful.” She gave a shrug of her shoulders, rose and started to wander around the room. “To you and to God.”

Adam grabbed the Kilmarnock edition of Burns’ poetry from a shelf close by and offered it to her. Perhaps she might learn to appreciate his homeland’s bard. “He is a very strange God, allowing someone as good as you fall prey to that...man.”

She eagerly took the book from him, ran her fingertips over its smooth surface and tentatively thumbed through the pages. When she finished examining it, she held it close to her. “God was watching over me. After all, He sent you, didn’t He? You were the answer to my prayer.”

“Humph.” Adam gave a skeptical snort and headed back for his desk. “I have been called many things in my life, but an answer to prayer was not one of them. Enjoy the books and the use of this room, whenever you may wish.” He sat down and shuffled a stack of papers. 

He skimmed through his correspondence while Belle explored the room. She walked around aimlessly, her neck craned and her hands behind her back, as she drank in her new surroundings. 

In the end, she took the book he suggested to her and a few others and settled on the settee near the fire to read. 

He caught himself stealing glimpses of her when he thought she too engrossed to notice. To his amazement, a couple times, he found that she had been eyeing him first.  
Adam sighed, scolding himself for allowing it to happen. Maurice French was right. 

He was in love with Belle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaston's attack on Belle and Adam's rescue is this story's version of the Disney movie "Beauty and the Beast" Belle being attacked by the wolves and being rescued by Beast. Gaston is the proverbial wolf in sheep's clothing.
> 
> Chocolate drink was made from melted bars of bitter chocolate, cream and sugar whipped together. Jane Austen herself enjoyed a cup for breakfast every morning. 
> 
> Robert Burns is the poet that Adam likes. He is best known for "Auld Lang Syne" and "A Red Red Rose." His is Scotland's bard; Robert Carlyle who plays Rumpelstiltskin on "Once Upon a Time," has done audio work reading Burns' poetry. 
> 
> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/128999057439/dark-night-of-the-soul-chapter-9


	10. Chapter 10

Belle tugged on the edge of her shawl, drawing the cambric material tighter across her shoulders and elbows. After spending nearly a day alone in the woods, shrouded by soaked leaves and cold grass, the chill sank through her skin and into her bones. One that she could not easily shake off. No amount of blankets, teas, chocolate drinks or fires dispelled it either. A cold could be coming on, or perhaps it was something else entirely. As traumatic as it was, being manhandled by Gaston Harcourt, he was not the one who occupied her thoughts. The moment Mr. Gold brandished his cane at Gaston and more or less chased him off, her fears dissipated. 

Her employer had showed up, like a knight in shining armor wielding a sword, on a white horse. Not even a scene straight out of one of her novels could trump that. 

She laid the book of poetry aside and walked to the parlor window, which faced the small garden at the front of the property. Mr. Gold was out there, barking out instructions to the gardeners on his newest plans for the shrubbery. By the terminal state of the plants, they had been left unattended for years. Why he bothered with them now was beyond her, especially considering that the year was nearly over. Winter was not far off and soon enough nothing would grow. Although, she supposed that great houses and castles such as this tended to their shrubberies in the cold months too.

As if he sensed her presence, he turned suddenly and spotting her in the window, he touched the brim of his hat and tipped it to her. The corners of his mouth upturned before flattening out again. Could that have been the beginnings of a smile?

She gave a small wave. He nodded to her. Seconds later he had resumed speaking to the servants. The man appeared so slight and slender compared to the burly gardeners that he was ordering around. Despite his size and the cane he relied on, he seemed fearless. The breeze tussled his crop of shaggy hair, making him look boyish. When she first saw him, she thought him unattractive. Now, the longer she knew him, the more handsome she thought of him. Mr. Gold’s one advantage to Gaston was that he was none the wiser about his good looks. Gaston’s beauty was only skin deep; Mr. Gold was entirely in the dark about his charms.

Her employer was such an oddity. She was raised believing that there an ounce of good existed in the worst of people…and then she met him. From the start of their association, he was churlish. The way he treated others, as though they were chaff to be discarded in the wind, sickened her. He trampled down those in his path. And his temper, that was a force not to be reckoned with! He was destructive towards material objects and valued nothing. Yet, the other day, after Gaston had attempted defile her, Mr. Gold had shown her a great amount of compassion. 

The man had been gentle and caring. He made it clear that she did not have to resume her chores until she felt she was ready and went as far as inviting her to use his library. 

_Sweetheart._

That was what he had called her. When he said it, it sent a shiver down her spine. Rather than repulsing her, it now excited her. Mr. Gold went on as far as to apologize for his behavior in regards to the forbidden room and vowed to protect her from Gaston. Then he gave her his overcoat to keep warm and escorted her home. Later on, she learned he had cooked her that cup of chocolate himself that he brought her.

In light of all that, one fact remained, one she could not wrap her mind around. 

Mr. Gold was a father. He had a child. 

“A penny for your thoughts?”

Belle jumped and whirled around. She wondered if the guilt in her features betrayed her thoughts. 

Mrs. Potts was leaning into the doorframe, with a bemused expression on her face. The woman then joined her at the window, and encircled her waist with her arm. Her friend was such a warm, giving person. She often reminded Belle of her Mother. Just when she needed maternal counsel the most, Mrs. Potts was there to share her wisdom and comfort. 

Still, Belle wondered what her Mother might think of her current situation. Would she have approved? What would she make of Mr. Gold? 

“I hadn’t heard you.” Belle forced a small, self-conscious laugh. 

“So I see.” Mrs. Potts brushed the curtain aside and surveyed the view. “Allow me to repeat myself: a penny for your thoughts?”

“I’m afraid it would require more than a penny.” She nodded to the man out on the lawn and then propped her chin on her friend’s shoulder. “I don’t understand Mr. Gold.”

Mrs. Potts made a small harrumph. “You and every other human being in the world.” She placed her hands on her widened hips, sounding like a mother who was on the verge of disciplining her wayward boy. “What did that man do wrong now? Did he say something untoward to you? Shall I speak to him?” 

“No, I mean... his child.” She lowered her voice. There was no possible way Mr. Gold could hear her through the glass of the window, however, she didn’t want the other servants to overhear. They might not know about that poor forgotten child. She didn’t wish to provide them fodder for their gossip. After all, word would eventually get back to her employer and only cause him further agony. “Mr. Gold is a father, but he acts as though his baby never existed.”

Mrs. Potts made no immediate response and recoiled from her. The woman’s features pinched together, leading Belle to think that the housekeeper was fighting her own set of emotions. How old was the child when it died? Five or maybe ten years old? Perhaps Mrs. Potts held the poor thing or played games with it, or doted on it as a grandmother would. Her friend had a big heart, big enough to love a child that was not her own.

Another mystery that troubled her: what had become of Mrs. Gold? Had she died too? Or perhaps she was still living somewhere out there in the world.

Mrs. Potts fingered the fringe on her collar. “When his son died, the best part of Mr. Gold died too. There is nothing worse for a parent than to watch your only child die.” Despite her wobbling voice, she took Belle by the hand. “The light was rekindled though, when you walked into Mr. Gold’s life. When he first met you, though he tried to hide it, there was something there.”

“Mrs. Potts, it could never be.” Belle looked at her friend as though she had been driven mad. “There is a darkness that has taken root in him.”

“If he is darkness, then you are light. You can be his light.”

“You know that better than anyone that that would never work.” Belle reminded her. 

“True.” Mrs. Potts nodded and then suggested, “You are quite persuasive and have him wrapped around your baby finger. He would do anything for you, you know. There is no doubt he would reform himself for you, if you asked.” 

While it sounded simple enough, changing Mr. Gold would take nothing short of a miracle. No, it wouldn’t be that easy or that quick. Not only would he oppose it, it might send him in the opposite direction. If Mr. Gold was looking to reform or redeem himself, he would have to do it because he desired it. Not to please her. 

“That wouldn’t do, Mrs. Potts. Besides, I don’t love him.” Belle said. 

No, Mr. Gold would not be a suitable husband for her. From the time she was a young girl, she knew what she wanted in a husband. A kind, honest man who sought to do good; a fellow believer in Christ. Her parents’ union was fine example of a happy couple who shared their same beliefs and dreams. Mother loved Father until her dying breath, refusing to close her eyes until he placed a tender kiss upon her forehead. And Father could not utter a word about Mother without crying; he would live out his years in mourning. They were two incomplete halves only whole when they were together.

Only a marriage a marriage like that would suite me. Belle decided. 

Her employer did not meet those standards. He was the exact opposite. In fact, he was known far and wide as the Beast, which was a nickname for the devil. And he did what he could to live up to that reputation. If grief was what plagued him, that was a poor excuse for being such a wicked soul. Her own pain didn’t drive her to commit sins and cause intentional pain others.

“Ah, well, you could have fooled me.” Mrs. Potts said. “Mr. Gold wants to take you on a picnic. Will you deprive him of your company?”

Belle peered back out the window. Mr. Gold had finished speaking to the servants and stood back, his arms crossed to watch them work. He was scrutinizing their every move, waiting for them to make a mistake. She certainly did not envy their occupations at the moment. 

Why he would want to spend time with her perplexed her. Prior to his rescue of her in the woods, they did not get on at all well. However, it seemed that after that, he was going out of his way to be charitable to her. If this was a meager attempt on his part to be kind, the least she could do was meet him half way. Though his dealings with her had changed, she knew that it had nothing to do with falling in love with her. Men like Mr. Gold did not fall in love. 

But they could become friends.

“Friends can enjoy picnics.” Belle said. 

If Mr. Gold could be gentlemanly to her in her time of need, the least she could be charitable to him. Perhaps friendship was what he needed to guide him onto reforming himself. 

#

Adam extended his arm as Belle made her descent from the carriage. She took his elbow and leaned on him. To his dismay, the touch did not last long, for he had to carry the basket and the blanket in one hand and lean on his cane with the other. Still, she remained close to his side. He ordered the driver to stay with the carriage, rather than accompany them. The last thing he wanted was for a servant listening in on whatever was said between them and then gossiping to the others about it.  
What he wanted to tell her was for her ears and her ears alone. 

Belle cast a pitying glance at the driver. She would never enjoy herself knowing that another soul was in need. 

“Don’t worry, he won’t be deprived. The cook sent a meal along with him.” He jutted his chin in the direction of the woods. “This way.” 

Crossing the field, the tall, wild grass left is saliva-like residue on his pant legs, however, he didn’t mind. Stains were a small price to pay to show her his sanctuary. In the end, it would be worth it.

She lifted her skirts, tentatively trying to avoid the worst of it. Her daintiness was comical enough to watch. “Where are you taking me?”

“It’s not far. Just have patience.” He said. “That is what the religious believe, isn’t it?”

She giggled at the irony of his words.

He hoped that an excursion near the pond wouldn’t remind Belle too much of her last encounter with Gaston. Perhaps what he was about to reveal to her would dispel those bad memories and give her brighter, happier ones. Maybe, he too could develop new reminiscences... with her.

When they happened upon the well-trodden pathway, he led her down the length of it and sliding between two chestnut trees, they stepped out into the large cliff overlooking the valley. The blood color leaves were dwindling to the earth, blanketing the ground haphazardly. White transparent sunshine glinted off the shiny leaves as though they were rubies. A soft breeze rippled the pond below the cliff, releasing a sweet hint of humid scent. Clusters of ducks bobbed on the surface, snipping at one another and flapping and stretching their wings. Birds cooed from the tree branches, serenading them with their own little harmonious tune. It was far better than any symphony that could be heard in London. 

Adam felt satisfied when he heard a small gasp escape from her parted lips. He dropped the basket on the stump that he usually reclined on. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

Belle approached the edge of the cliff and peered down. Her skirt snapped sharply in the breeze. She turned back to him, gushing, “Beautiful is an inadequate word to describe this, Mr. Gold.”

Now when he looked out over the rocky peaks below, he wouldn’t contemplate throwing himself over the edge. He would only remember her joy, as well as his own.

He unfolded the blanket it, shook it open and smoothed it out on the flattest part of the ground. “It improves too, towards sunset.” He opened the basket lid and laid out the plates and silverware. 

“Have you been here often?” She raised her brow at him. 

“Many, many times.” He was going to leave it at that, but decided that if he had a chance of winning her, he could not keep her at a distance. He would have to open his heart to her.

Adam blinked, amazed by his own ponderings. Winning her? Yes, he had admitted to himself that he was in love with Belle. But it was as if his mind made the giant leap from love to marriage in a solitary second. He continued to situate the meal, yet he could not tear his eyes from her. Would someone as good, young and comely as she was seriously consider him? 

Belle lowered to her knees onto the blanket and placed a sandwich on each of their plates. 

If he had any hope of her falling in love with him, he would have to show her who he really was. Warts and all. 

“My son Bae and I would come here on Sunday afternoons, after church.” He sensed her surprise and snickered. How different he was then, setting foot in church to appease others and be a fine example for his boy. Now no force on heaven or earth could make him go. “Aye, Miss French, I use to regularly attend services. Now this is my special, sacred place; my sanctuary, my church.” 

“Thank you for sharing this with me.” Belle took a bite of the sandwich, chewed and swallowed. “That is the first time you ever spoken of your family, of your child. Bae is a lovely name.”

“Short for Baeden. I have not mentioned him to anyone since he died. Frankly, it hurt too much.” No longer hungry, he laid his sandwich back on the plate. His stomach rolled, cramping up at the thought of what he was about to tell her. But to stop would be futile. He had to continue on, despite how he felt physically. “My wife, Milah…well, she had lovers; I guess that is what you would call them. She contracted Scarlet Fever from one of them. She brought the sickness back to our house and she died the next day.” He covered his mouth, to conceal his emotion. For him there was nothing more mortifying than for him to cry in front of this girl. Real men did not weep in front of ladies, but his son was more than worthy of his tears. “My Bae contracted it and he fought the best he could, but my poor boy never did have a strong constitution. His wee body plain wore out.”

Belle had put her sandwich back on the plate, and was staring at him through stunned, glistening eyes. The loathing she had for him visibly dissipated. He could feel her compassion and he loved her for that.

“My wife… it was never a love union and though I thought we would be faithful to one another, that didn’t happen. After Bae was born, we lived very separate lives. She was a good mother and we were committed to raising our son. When she died, I was sad, but…You will understand one day. It is inevitable; however, one spouse will outlive the other. That is the way life. It is natural.” 

Belle shyly slipped her hand into his. “But, your son.”

She understood and for that he was grateful. 

Adam nodded. He folded his arms, still hanging on to her hand, and could almost envision his son laying there. “My son, my little boy. My life made sense when I held him in my arms.” Despite his resolve to maintain his strength, a lone tear trickled down to his chin. “But when your child dies, you are no longer a parent. You are nothing, you cease to exist. What am I if not a father? Allow me to give you a piece of advice, Belle. You should never have just one child. Because there is always that awful possibility that you could lose him one day.”

Belle dipped her head, kissing where droplet lay. Her cool breath caressed his jaw, like a light breeze. “Bae’s absence cannot change the fact that you are a father.” She raised her hand and thumbed the remainder his face dry. 

Her soft fingers felt hot on his skin, as though her touch was searing straight to the bone. He both loved and hated it. Her presence convicted his unruly spirit far more than any clergyman or church ever could.

“Do you really believe in all of it?” Adam sucked in a haggard breath. He swallowed and softened his words. “Do you really believe in God and Jesus, heaven and hell, forgiveness and redemption? Because I have a difficult time trusting in a God who gives me this beautiful, beautiful gift and then destroys it right in front of me. What kind of God strikes down an innocent lad, who never caused an ounce of pain a day in his life? All while forcing me to watch and be helpless.”

To his regret, Belle slowly slid her hand from his cheek and placed it in her lap. She lifted and dropped her shoulders. “I wish I had an answer for you, but I’m afraid I don’t.” She said with a weary sigh. 

Grief. He knew that look all too well. The sentiment was an unwanted friend of his that had plagued him for years. She too was in pain and he had been too wrapped up in his own wretchedness that he hadn’t noticed. That or he hadn’t cared. How many desperate souls had he encountered who were in the midst of wallowing in their own sadness and he ignored? 

Adam blinked back his remaining tears. “What is the tragedy of your life?” Fearful of being too familiar or frightening her off, he settled for resting his hand on her shoulder. “Come now, sweetheart, we all have one. I have shared my deepest, darkest secret with you. Feel free to do the same with me.” 

Belle had a hanky hidden in the sleeve of her spencer jacket. She withdrew it and patted her face. “My mother, who had been in good health for most of her life, died a year ago. Our closest friends told me, ‘At least you didn’t have to see her grow old and decrepit.’ They meant well, but that only made it worse. I was close to her and after she died, I fell into a deep sadness. It has only been the last few months that I was raised out of it. I have begun to live again.” She chewed on her lower lip, her straight white teeth peeking out. “The day we met, was the first time, in a long time that I felt good. Like my old self. Life and good cheer had returned to me. My greatest fear is that it will happen again, that this time I will lose my Father or one of my sisters, and the melancholy will return and I won’t come out of it. Next time, it will swallow me whole.”

He had made several attempts to conjure up a recollection of Mrs. French. The vague memory of her was too fragmentary to be reliable. He had never associated with the lower classes. Though he did hear that for a farmer’s wife, she had a reputation of being a lady and was a pillar of the community. What he did recall was that she was far superior to her pathetic excuse of a husband. She would never have permitted Belle to live with him…Mrs. French would have gone to work for him herself. Unlike her husband, that lady would not have slinked off. She would have laid her life down for her family. No doubt Belle inherited her spirit.

Adam was dumbstruck for a minute. Belle was possibly the only person in the world sadder than he was. She was far better at hiding too. He may have pushed others away, but he did not fall into a despair that sapped his strength. From the way she spoke, it sounded as though as she suffered from reoccurring melancholy that rendered her listless. Even now, in a better state, she hid her feelings behind a mask of happiness. 

“Don’t worry.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips against her temple. He spoke softly in her ear. “If you fall, I will catch you.”

Belle leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. 

Adam knew this wouldn’t last forever, but relished in every second that it did. He combed his fingers through her curls that the wind had set free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On "Once Upon a Time" Rumpelstiltskin's son is named Baelfire, but Rumple nicknamed him Bae. For this story, Baelfire wouldn't fit. So like other fanfiction authors before, I have given Adam's son the name of Baeden. Bae for short. 
> 
> The advice Adam gives to Belle, about not having just one child because she could lose him- that is actually based on a piece of advice that my mom received. My dad's aunt had lost her only child and when my parents started to try for children, she advised my mom to have more than one. Just in case.
> 
> The depression Belle experienced after her Mother's death was similar to the depression that I experienced after my dad died. 
> 
>  
> 
> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/129501757114/dark-night-of-the-soul-chapter-10


	11. Chapter 11

Gaston Harcourt strutted into the French house, ignoring the shocked expression of the maid he passed. It had been more than a week since his violent encounter with the Beast in the woods; however the cane’s marks on his flesh were still visible. The purple on his neck, back and upper arms had faded to a navy blue and every inch of his swollen flesh throbbed as his skin stretched across his muscles. His eye sockets were discolored as well, from when he collapsed to the ground. A solid rock had broken his fall. 

He let most of Ashby society believe that he was indisposed and he threatened his own servants into secrecy. But he could no longer hide away at home, not now that Mr. Gold was officially his sworn enemy. Vengeance was on his mind; not only for the Beast but for Belle as well. His hatred for the lady almost outweighed what attraction he originally had for her, and nearly surpassed his hatred for the man. 

The maid announced him to Maurice. 

The older man clamored to his feet, his newspaper tumbling to the floor. His jaw dropped. “Gaston, what happened? Did an accident befall you?” He clutched his thick chest. “Were you able to rescue my dear girl? Where is Belle? Is she resting at your home?”

The blood rushed to his face, causing him to wince. The pressure felt hot as an iron. “I tried, sir. That Beast got to her first and ravished her.” He raked his fingers through his hair and he cringed. His scalp and the roots of his locks was tender too. “I battled him the best I could, but as you can see, he fought dirty and used his cane on me.”

Maurice moaned, casting his eyes heavenwards for assistance. “Lord have mercy on us! There is no other alternative; we will have to take her back by force.” He lifted and dropped his shoulders, as though the fight was being wrung out of him. “Alert Sheriff Nottingham.”

Gaston reluctantly listened while Maurice boorishly bemoaned the loss of his precious daughter. He fought the urge to roll his eyes and curse that girl’s very existence. After Belle haughtily rejected him in favor of that crippled Beast, he could wait until the sheriff collected her and brought her back to the French farm. They would be engaged and married, of course, but the moment he got her alone in his chambers then he would claim what was his by right. She would pay dearly for all the trouble she had caused. Then she would know better than to cross him again. As for the Beast, he would make certain that foul fiend would be shipped off to Australia and never heard of again. Ashby would be free of his control and he would be no more than a black blot on their memories. 

When the older man’s simpering subsided and he had offered him the enough comfort, Gaston made his way down the hall, with the intention of going straight to Nottingham in Upper Ashby. 

The silhouette of a woman flittered into the parlor, catching his eager, hungry eye. He stopped in place, his blood heating up at the sight of a skirt. It was the blondish middle sister, Patricia. She possessed a child-like cuteness, but in his opinion was not pretty per se. Were Patricia or the other one their father’s special pet, he would have singled either of them out instead. At least Belle was beautiful; she had that in her favor. He would not be repulsed when he took her to his bed. Her beauty would be a small compensation for all of his trouble. 

However, were his plans to go awry and somehow Belle managed to avoid marrying him, Marce could possibly settle everything on one of the other daughters. I must play my cards right. 

Gaston pushed out his chest and marched into the room. 

To his delight, Patricia was alone, giving him an opportunity to woo her. It would not take him too long. The girl was simple enough to be swayed by a few handsome smiles and ardent words. And maybe a little something more.

“Oh, Mr. Harcourt!” She exclaimed as soon as she laid eyes on him. The girl tossed her sewing down and bobbed over to him. “Thank the Lord you are here! I know you will right everything.” 

“I shall certainly do my best.” His eyes roved over her sumptuous figure and reminded himself to behave. Or at least take his time. He dared to claim one of her hands and press it to his cheek. “Patricia, pardon me for saying this, but you look quite fetching in yellow. Lovely as gold.” He fingered the delicate lace on her sleeve. 

Unlike her priggish younger sister, the middle one seemed to relish in his touch. This was almost too easy. Much like a cat snaring a foolish little canary. 

“If I didn’t know better, I would say that you are flirting with me.” Patricia batted her lashes at him and giggled. 

“What if I am?” Gaston allowed his hand to travel down the length of her arm. 

“What about Belle? Don’t you love her anymore?” 

“I have tried, the good Lord knows I have. Belle isn’t like you, so sweet and angelic. Sometimes I think...” He released a heavy sigh. 

“What?” The featherheaded little creature asked. 

“Sometimes I think I chose the wrong sister.” He stroked the side of her face and wound one of her curls around his index finger. “Good bye, dearest Patricia.” He backed off.  
Patricia fell for his ruse. “Wait...” She stuck her head out in the hall, ducked back inside and closed the door. She said, “I know I am not Belle, but please, consider me. I may not be as pretty, but I would make you a good wife.”

Huzzah! Gaston cheered inwardly. It had been weeks since he had his carnal desires met. He hadn’t called on Zelena in ages. When Mr. Gold confronted him about his connection to the harlot, he had to cut off ties until things were settled. And though this girl was a little blunt piece of nothing, he had to take what he could get. When he had the chance, he would make love to the older sister as well, to ensure her favor. That way, no matter what happened, he would win out in the end. The French land would be his.

He drew her into his embrace and quickly kissed her. Her lips were flimsy and wet. She was in need of much training. “There is no doubt in my mind that you would. If I had my way...Nay.” He intentionally parted from her to increase her desire. “Let us not fall into temptation. But believe me, dear girl, if there is a way, I will find it.”

Patricia jerked him back. “I believe in you.” She smothered his face with kisses. 

Gaston closed his eyes, to avoid seeing her frantic attacks. This has to be the easiest conquest I have ever made. He allowed his hands to explore her.  
Soon enough, the deed was done.

Minutes later, he quitted the room whistling, satisfied that he had led her to believe that they had entered into a secret engagement.  
#

Belle ordered herself to maintain her composure and walk poised like a lady, when she preferred to run. At least that is how her heart felt. It had skipped a few beats as of late. She couldn’t explain her mood, but was she eager to see Mr. Gold. The more time she spent in his presence, the more she desired his company. 

Her shoulders drooped when she did not find him sitting at the head of the table. While she was considered a servant, she and Mrs. Potts had begun to take their meals with him. In between chores, which were becoming fewer and easier, she toured his library and chatted with him. Not only did they exchange ideas on books, they discussed religion, politics and current events. Unlike her Father or Gaston, he actually listened to what she said and valued her opinions. Underneath that mask he continually wore, Mr. Gold was an intelligent, witty, charming and handsome man. 

Weeks ago she never would have thought it possible, but somewhere along the way, Mr. Gold had become her friend. The other servants continued to give him a wide berth, trembling in his presence when they did encounter him, and he never treated them with the special consideration that he treated her. 

She hastened to the kitchen in search for Mrs. Potts and unable to find her, she spoke to the cook. “Is Mr. Gold unwell? He is not in the dining room.”

The Cook grunted, her gravelly voice full of venom. “The master said he wasn’t hungry. Not surprising though.” Her lips curled into a disgusted sneer. “It is difficult to keep food down after a night of drinking.”

“Mr. Gold drinking? That does not seem right.” She said.

Oh, he had his share of wine when he ate and a glass of Scotch in the evening, but no more than any other gentleman. In fact, her own Father consumed more libations than her employer. No, it could not be drink. He must be ill or in low spirits. 

“Should we look in on him?” Belle asked.

“When he gets in one of these states, tis best to leave him be.” The Cook was unconcerned and waddled back to the counter to knead her bread. 

Belle surveyed the room and the other servants avoided her gaze. Something was not right and they seemed to unanimously decide not to inform her. Unlike the rest of them, she could not shrug off her concerns. 

Her eyes fell on a bar of chocolate on the counter and she remembered how he had brought her a drink when she was upset. After the compassion he had extended to her, she had to return the favor. Perhaps she would unearth the mystery of what was going on. At the very least, he would know that he was not alone in this world and that he had a friend.

Belle waited a full minute outside the library, mustering her courage before knocking and entering without being welcomed. The curtains were drawn, the candles unlit and the room swathed in darkness. The fire had not been tended to and long died out. Nothing more than a wisp of smoke seeped out of the embers. 

Mr. Gold was in his chair, dark shadows encircled his eyes, giving him a gaunt appearance. His lack of sleep and mussed up hair gave him the appearance of intoxication, but she knew him too well now to be fooled. 

He slammed his fist on the desk and cursed. “Didn’t Mrs. Potts tell you that I was not to be disturbed?” He pointed to the door. “Get out!”

He sounded as harsh as when she first met him. However, she did not find this daunting. Knowing that their relationship had changed, their new closeness unnerved him. He was only trying to scare her off because she had seen the real man behind the mask. 

She placed the warm cup of chocolate in front of him. “I thought this might be helpful. Things never seem quite as bleak after a cup of chocolate.” She added, “It cheered me up considerably the other day when you brought it to me.”

“Belle, please.” He softened a degree, his tone weak. “I am in no mood today to be around people and that includes you.” He laced his fingers together. “Believe me, sweetheart, you don’t want to be with me.”

Belle studied him. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Is it Bae’s birthday or the anniversary of his death?”

His head lowered and though she could barely discern the outline of his face, she knew he was crying. “Birthday. He would be nine.” He said between choking gasps. “I can’t face it, I can’t function, I can’t breathe.”

Belle drug the candelabra close and lit it. The light it put off cast a halo on his moist face. He had rescued her and consoled her in her darkest moment, therefore she could not abandon him now. 

“Mr. Gold, you are going through what is called the dark night of the soul. We all go through it. Believe me, hiding away won’t make it easier. I have done that and it only made it worse.” She reached across and grasped one of his trembling hands. It felt cold and clammy in hers, wetted by sweat and tears. “Why not visit that special place again? On today, of all days, it will be difficult, but it is a step in the right direction.”

Her suggestion was met with silence. She began to fear that she had overstepped her bounds, as she did when she entered Bae’s room. 

“Would- would you accompany me?” His squeezed her hand affectionately. “Will you help me, Belle?”

“Of course.” Belle nodded. 

She was happy to do what she could. There was no easing the pain of losing a child, that was beyond her. She could only offer him assurance that he didn’t have to endure this agony on his own. 

#

The moment she saw the two white crosses, one big and one small, overlooking that small cliff, Belle gasped. She laid her hand over her heart. “Oh, my. I didn’t know that Bae was buried here.”

She had naturally assumed that Mrs. Gold and young Bae were buried in the church graveyard. Nearly everyone, rich and poor alike, who died in and around Ashby was interned there. At least those who were in favor with the church were welcomed to reside there for all eternity. However, Mr. Gold antagonized many of the townsfolk and local clergymen that it wouldn’t have been a surprise to her if they had been refused a plot. 

She quickly changed her mind though, recalling the beauty of the area. This was the Gold family’s special place. The simple crosses suited his little family far more than extravagant monuments. He wouldn’t have been able to freely mourn in the church graveyard. The locals would watch and make light of his suffering. Yes, this was far better. 

Mr. Gold knelt down before the graves and brushed a few stray twigs aside. He kissed his palm and pressed into the moistened soil. “The last time I was here, the time before I brought you, I took up the old crosses. They were all rotted. I put these new ones out a few days ago.” He placed the bouquet of red roses from the hothouse at the foot of the crosses. 

“Tell me about your son.” In her way of thinking, it was better that he talk about his memories than for him to pitifully wallow in them. It would be the beginning of his healing, the beginning of him to free himself. 

“I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Tell me what he looked like. Start there.”

“Bae was four years old, with a messy crop of brown hair and eyes so light that they were golden. He was a wee, sickly thing. When he was born, he was small and frail, we didn’t know if he would survive or not. Milah and I had to be watchful that he didn’t catch colds. Though he was young, he was learning to read. He loved his fairy tales. He made me tell him the story of Rumpelstiltskin every night, though for the life of me, I don’t know why.”

Belle looked to the larger cross, the one that represented Mrs. Gold and felt a wave of pity. What kind of woman was she? Her employer rarely mentioned her. No one in the household spoke of her. She was as shadowy as her son. Almost like a spirit; one that was ever present yet could never be seen. 

Belle could laugh at herself now for believing that Mrs. Gold had been murdered or locked away in an attic. Or had run out on her husband and lived in anonymity. Even so, from the few comments he had made, Mr. Gold implied that his wife did not hold to their vows and had many lovers, but the woman had been a good mother. 

“What about Mrs. Gold?” She asked. “What is the story there? Did you love her?”

Mr. Gold exhaled. A flushed crept up his neck. “I cared about my wife... I loved her in my own way. Milah was better than I deserved. Um…we had known each other for years. Unlike most ladies, she didn’t marry young. She was a confirmed spinster as I was a confirmed bachelor. Yet she wanted to have a home of her own and we both wanted to have children. Since we were old family friends, it seemed only natural for us to wed.” He shrugged. “Early on, it was a good marriage; but after Bae was born she…she had lovers.” 

“I see.” Belle said. “And since then, you have loved no one and no one has loved you?”

Mr. Gold shrugged, looking a little peeved due to the fact that she accurately guessed the root of his problems. He had been without love for too long. “Whatever was lacking between Milah and I, it was worth it, knowing the miracle we had created. That’s the thing about children. Before you know it, you lose them.” He smoothed out the soil, as though he were stoking his son’s head. “My boy. One winter night, when he was small, there was a snow storm and the wind howled. Being in a dark castle, he thought it was a ghost. He crawled into my bed, and I can still hear his little voice: ‘Papa. I’m afraid.’ And I guess by instinct, I just said, ‘Don’t you worry, son. Everything’s gonna be fine.’ And he smiled at me and went right back to sleep lying on my chest. You know, that was the happiest moment of my life because for the first time ever, I felt like a man, that I could truly look after him, alone.’ He was my happy ending.” 

Belle wasn’t sure how to respond to that. She had no answers or real comfort to give. Perhaps all he really needed was a listening ear and to know that someone really did care about him. 

He plucked one of the roses from the collection and using his walking stick he propelled himself up. “And you, Belle? Were you ever in love?”

“No. It never happened for me.” Belle shook her head and hoped her disappointment wasn’t too evident. It wasn’t her nature to pine over silly things, however, she did want to love and be loved. “I have waited and waited, but he isn’t coming.”

She had begun to believe that the good man that her Mother had promised would come for her didn’t exist. For a short period, in her youthful naïveté, she daydreamed of Gaston Harcourt as possible suitor. Well, not the real Gaston, but a storybook hero that resembled him. It didn’t take long for that fantasy to die. As she watched her Mother suffer, she gained enough wisdom to know that Gaston was not the one for her. Of course at that time she had not yet realized the depth of his depravity. However, when her Mother died and she sank into her melancholy, she knew he would not have been able to cope with it. The man she married would have to help her face her sadness head on, without flinching. 

Mr. Gold first smiled and that soon led to a small snort. 

“What?” Belle demanded. “What did I say that you find so amusing?”

He waved her off. “Nothing. It’s just, you have plenty of time. There is no rush, no need to settle. Better to wait.” 

She sensed that he knew something that she did not. Before she could ask what was making him chuckle, he walked towards her, holding out the rose. “Here, if you will have it.” His brow was raised in uncertainty. “Thank you for being here for me.”

Mr. Gold offering her a rose reminded her of the poem, “Roman de la Rose” where the knight declared his love to his lady by offering her a rose. Whether he realized the significance of it or not, didn’t matter. It was a sweet gesture nonetheless. 

She accepted it and breathed in the scent off its crimson petals. “What are friends for?”

“Ah, so we’re friends now?” Mr. Gold cocked his head. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn that in his own bashful way, he was flirting with her. “Good, I’m glad.”

“I’m sorry for what I said.” Belle looked at the rose and sighed. The simplicity of his gift made her feel guilty. He wasn’t always pleasant, but he had always been honest. It had been wrong of her to resort to mean spirited tricks and destruction. Now was her moment of truth. “Mr. Gold, I have been misleading you. The bad meals, the broken trinkets, the spoilt laundry...that was all intentional.” She held up her finger. “Except for the chipped cup and horse figurine in your son’s room. That figurine truly was an accident, for which I deeply regret.” She inhaled a deep breath. “I thought that you would have enough of me and send me home, that way you would be the one canceling our deal.”

She counted the seconds until he lost his temper. To her astonishment, he didn’t. 

He merely nodded. “I know. Clever, though.”

“Still, I’m sorry for all the trouble, Mr. Gold. I know it adds more to my family’s debt-” 

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure I deserved most of it. I tend to have that effect on women.” Mr. Gold’s soft eyes were fixated on her, particularly the lower half of her face. His lips pressed together.

Is there a fleck of dirt on me? Belle swiped her hand across her mouth and chin and her fingers came clean. “Is there something wrong?”

Her employer shook his head. “No, I was just thinking…wondering…” He offered a shy smile. A shadow of scruff followed the length of his jaw. “Would you consider- could you consider calling me by my given name, Adam?”

Her eyes widened. The use of Christian names in public was highly improper. In her opinion, using names in private was too intimate. No matter how many years they had been married, her parents never called each other by name; it was always Mr. French and Mrs. French! Only lately had it become the fashion amongst younger engaged and married couples to exchange such intimacies. 

There was earnestness in his expression. He meant no harm by it. Besides, he had long since used her given name and it had never offended her. Au contraire, the way he said her name, it was like his burr was verbally caressing each syllable. 

Belle said, “Of course…Adam.” 

The change would take some getting used to. However, his Christian name fit him better than his surname. It softened his sharp edges.  
Adam held his arm out to her and escorted her back to the carriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picture the Cook looking like Mrs. Patmore from "Downton Abbey." The actress Lesley Nicol did guest star on "Once Upon a Time" as Snow White's friend Joanna. 
> 
> The phrase "Dark Night of the Soul" comes from a poem with the same title by the 16th century Spanish poet and Roman Catholic mystic Saint John of the Cross. Considering Gold is battling a darkness within him, I thought it fitting for this story. Don't worry, Gold is not going to have a come to Jesus moment. It just wouldn't fit with who he is. 
> 
> Bae's favorite story is Rumpelstiltskin. No need to elaborate here as to why that is. :~)
> 
> "Roman de la Rose" is a medieval French poem. There is a tumblr post going around about how Rumple presenting Belle with the rose was symbolic and reminiscent of this poem; that it was his way to court her. So, I worked into this fanfic. 
> 
>  
> 
> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/129997262594/dark-night-of-the-soul-chapter-11


	12. Chapter 12

Adam flipped his missive aside and from his small writing desk, he unreservedly observed Belle as she slumbered on the chaise lounge. Her chin was pointed downward and an open book lay across her belly. She was far more pleasing to look upon than his letter. 

It had become a routine that following their supper meal, she would accompany him into the parlor and they would visit. Her position in the household elevated from servant to…well, unofficial mistress of the castle. The whole agreement of her working off her Father’s debt no longer mattered to him. If he had his way, he would burn that infernal contract in the fireplace and beg her to marry him. Deep down he feared that their written agreement was the only way he could compel her to stay. 

He rested his head on the high back of the chair and groaned. The situation they had placed themselves in was sheer lunacy. Were he to release her from her promise, she would go back to her home disgraced and Gaston Harcourt would only bring harm to her. That imbecile Maurice would browbeat her into a marriage she didn’t want and then she would be miserable for the rest of her life. Not only that, the town would never accept her into their fold again. If only she returned his affections, then they could be married by a special license or elope to Gretna Green. Then, rather than subject themselves to scrutiny in Ashby, they could return to his beloved Scotland. No one would be aware of their former predicament there. Whilst he would hate to bid the Dark Castle farewell, but he would do it if it made her safe and happy.

Adam was roused from his thoughts by a rough fist pounding on his front door. He peered at Belle’s peacefully sleeping form, quickly draped a blanket over her and left to learn who was creating such an unholy racket. 

Cogsworth was tending to the visitor and would not permit him entrance. Night had begun to descend on them, a biting nip coasting through the castle. 

“Gold, open up! This is your last chance!” A familiar male voice bellowed through the opened door and into the hall. 

Adam dismissed his servant and stepped out onto his stoop. Maurice was fuming, his meaty hands balled and ready to pummel. Next to him was a tall man, with greasy disheveled hair, wearing official looking clothes. Were he to hazard a guess, Adam supposed that the gentleman was a lawman. Gaston Harcourt lurked behind them, his bright eyes darting back and forth, frantic for his prey. He was like a snake, waiting for the prime moment to strike. A demon prowling in the shadows.

“What the hell do you want?” Adam demanded, holding back the remainder of the string of venomous words dancing on the tip of his tongue. He hoped to God that Belle wouldn’t wake and come out to find her attacker there next to her father. 

“Mr. Adam Gold?” The lawman saluted him. “I am Sheriff Nottingham. It has come to my attention that you are holding a young woman against her will and that you have compromised her virtue by molesting her near Ashby pond.”

Gaston was lucky to be able to use the other two as a shield. Had Gaston been brazen enough to confront him on his own, Adam would have been in danger of going back on the promise he made to Belle. His enemy was years younger, far taller and likely stronger, yet with the white hot rage surging through his veins, he was convinced that he could kill him using his bare hands. 

“Is that how you spun the story, Gaston? You spin a yarn better than any weaver. You know, I may be many things, a bastard to boot, but I don’t go around assaulting women.” He disregarded the other two and solely addressed the sheriff. “If you did any amount of investigating, sir, you would have heard of the reports of Gaston’s indiscretions. He is a regular customer of a scarlet lady by the name of Zelena Green in Lower Ashby.” He gripped his cane, envisioning it as Gaston’s neck. One good squeeze and the man would only be a scourge in their recollections. “Mr. Harcourt is the one who harmed Miss Belle French.”

Maurice’s plump cheeks swelled. “How dare you malign Gaston Harcourt’s good character!” He said. “You aren’t even worthy to say his name.”

The fool’s misplaced trust in Gaston was too great. No amount of evidence would change his feeble mind. Had Maurice witnessed the incident himself, he would have gone to his grave, believing whatever Gaston told him. That only made Adam hate Maurice all the more.

Sheriff Nottingham released a puff of air, which had been tainted by liquor. He looked at Gaston, dumbfounded, as though he didn’t know what to do next. 

Adam rolled his eyes. Of course. Nottingham was connected to Gaston. 

“Lies!” Gaston screamed. He sputtered, “I-I would never- I-I am a good C-Christian man!”

“If you are a good Christian, I would hate to see a bad one.” Adam said. 

Sheriff Nottingham said, “Mr. French claims that you believe you own his youngest daughter, Belle.”

Adam hesitated. The truth no longer mattered, especially with a corrupted lawman. However, the greater half of Ashby was conscious of the arrangement that he and Belle agreed on. If he lied, his lies would find him out. 

He wetted his lips. “Miss French and I entered into an agreement that she would work off the debt her father incurred.” 

“Adam?” He could hear Belle calling for him. Her footsteps neared. 

He wished that she could be spared this encounter, but it was now too late.

Adam stepped aside. “Ask her yourself.” He said, “Belle, I am out here.”

Belle emerged from the house, with only a light shawl coiled around her. The second she saw her Father, she rushed over and embraced him. “Father, what on earth?” 

Adam regretted requesting her to come out. Now that she had been reunited with her Father, she would naturally want to go home. 

Belle let out a gasp. “Good heavens, Mr. Harcourt…” She slowly back away. 

“Belle, come here, darling.” Maurice beckoned, reaching for her. The man’s voice was strained. “We have come to take you home. Don’t be alarmed, Gaston told me everything. We won’t let that Beast hurt you again.”

“Adam…Mr. Gold has never hurt me, he wouldn’t. He has truly been a gentleman.” Belle insisted and then pointed at the culprit of all their troubles. “He protected me when Mr. Harcourt attacked me.”

Adam debated on whether or not to permit this charade to go any farther. No doubt that the servants were watching and would gossip about it to no end. It had to be horrifying for Belle to have to audibly recount that dark event, particularly in front of a stranger.

“Belle, how can you say such a thing? I am a Christian!” Gaston exclaimed. “If I didn’t know better, I would think that you had feelings for this monster.” 

When Gaston began to stalk towards Belle, Adam stepped in his path and held up his hand. “Don’t you dare come near her!” 

“He is no monster, Mr. Harcourt. You are! I trusted you, my whole family trusted you. You took advantage of us all.” Her voice broke but she forced herself to continue, “You were going to rape me because I wouldn’t marry you.”

Maurice blanched. Through his clenched teeth, he whispered, “Belle, please, we can settle all that out later.” 

Belle was taken aback. Her eyes watered. It never would have occurred to her that her father would choose Gaston over her.

Keith Nottingham adjusted his collar. His rounded cheeks were reddened by their frank discussion of carnal desires. Or perhaps from his drinking. “Miss French, you do not have to stay with this man a minute longer.” He said gently, “Mr. Gold does not own you. No matter what he told you, no matter what your family owes him, you are not obligated to work for him. Your father informed me of the papers that you signed. You are not one and twenty, miss; therefore you are not of age. Without your father’s consent, it is not binding. That contract would be laughed out of court, believe me.” 

Adam felt the panic rising within him. If she wanted a way out, this was her chance to take it. She could walk out of his life and he would never see her again. Then what would become of him? He would be groping in the dark abyss without her light to lead him out. 

He needed Belle.

“I am with Mr. Gold because I want to be.” Belle stated, drawing her shawl over her shoulders and tightening it around her small body. “I am his companion by choice.”

Adam exhaled. She wants to be with me! He inwardly cheered, but his happiness quickly diminished when he saw her crestfallen expression. It would not end well between father and daughter.

“Don’t say that!” Maurice grabbed her by the forearm and guided her to the flight of stairs that led out to the garden. “If you stay with this man willingly, I can never see you again. I cannot condone this licentiousness. After all, what would your mother say if she saw you now?”

Adam winced. Her Mother was a sore subject with Belle, but naturally her father was aware and mentioned the woman to torment his daughter. 

The man was about to continue when Adam slammed the end of his can down on the cement step. Maurice jerked and clamped his mouth shut. 

Belle disengaged herself and held her father’s gaze. “I understand. It is abominable for me to live with a man outside the bounds of matrimony, but you have no qualms about allowing Mr. Harcourt rape me. As long as I’m properly married afterwards.” Her tone was cool and crisp, devoid of all emotion. “Good bye, Father.”

She wrapped her arms around herself and fled into the castle weeping. 

Sheriff Nottingham brought up his hands in defeat. “There is nothing I can do about this matter, Mr. French. The girl is of sound mind and has made her choice.” 

Maurice spat at Adam’s feet. “This is your doing.” He shook his finger. “You ruined my daughter. You sullied her character.”

“You drove Belle away. You are her father, you had her love and you threw it away! And it’s not my fault, it’s yours! Not mine! You intentionally hurt your daughter.” Adam felt enraged enough to spit at him in return, but swallowed his saliva instead. The fury he had that was initially directed towards Gaston was transferred to Maurice. There was nothing he hated more than a parent who did not put their child’s needs first. “You had your child and you took her for granted. This is God’s scourge on you. Now, get off my land before I remove you by force.”

He returned into the castle, slamming the door behind him. Rather than follow the sound of her sobbing, he headed for the kitchen. 

Another cup of chocolate was required. 

#

Belle dabbed her eyes and blew her nose in her handkerchief. I must stop weeping! Her hysterics made her breathing labored and she was beginning to feel giddy. However, the tears would not stop flowing. She squeezed her eyes closed. 

How could Father take Gaston’s word over hers and then abandon her when she refused to marry the man? To make matters worse, he swore that he would never see her again if she chose to continue to uphold her end of the deal that she made with Adam. Then as if to punish her for her decision, Father mentioned Mother and implied that she too would be just as appalled. Her employer’s Dark Castle had become a sanctuary for her. If she were honest with herself, she would admit that it had become a home. Perhaps the only real home she had since Mother died.

The parlor door swung open. 

She patted her cheeks and scolded herself once more for allowing herself to carry on so. Now her eyes would be red rimmed and her nose would be swelled pink. 

Adam crossed the room, balancing a tea cup of chocolate in one hand while bracing himself on his cane. He gave it to her without a word of explanation. 

His kindness only made the tears well up. “Adam, you don’t have to bring me this to drink whenever I’m upset.” She managed a watery smile, sipped the brew and laid the cup on the end table. 

“It always made my Bae feel better and it did help me the other day.” Rather than sit in his usual chair, Adam lowered onto the chaise lounge beside her. He shifted on the cushion, unable to get comfortable. “Belle, it has occurred to me, that were I to release you from our arrangement, it would not guarantee your safety under your father’s roof. Or anywhere else from that matter.”

The thought of leaving made her uneasy. The place that she originally considered her prison had become her home in every sense of the word. The man she had thought was a Beast had one of the biggest hearts and was a gentleman in the truest sense. He loved more deeply and steadfastly than any other person alive. 

“Adam, I meant what I said. I want to be here, albeit mainly for selfish reasons. You were right. I offered to work and live here not only to help my Father, but to avoid Gaston Harcourt. I never wanted to marry him.” Belle swallowed and forbade herself from crying. She had shed enough tears for one evening. Twisting her hanky in her lap, she hoped to distract herself. It wasn’t working. “What saddens me is that my Father who claims to love me, will marry me off to someone I abhor and overlook Gaston’s wickedness. It doesn’t make sense. You are a father, a wonderful, loving parent. Doesn’t Father care about what I want?”

His lips parted and then closed. He shook his head. “One of the reasons I was eager to get my hands on Mr. French’s land was to spite him. I never liked him.” He gripped his knee and drew it up slightly, massaging the cap of it. “My own father was not a good man. He was violent. He gave me this limp.”

“What? How?” She regretted asking. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

He sighed, his lids lowering. “My father was a drinking man, he was dependent on his Scotch too much, and he wailed on me whenever he got the chance. That was nothing new.” His jaw twitched. “When I was about eight, I broke his favorite pipe. Father took a bootjack and slammed it down on my knee. The joint never healed properly.”

Despite her own Father’s recent negligence, compared to Adam she had grown up in a happy home. She could not fathom how his father could have been that vicious. How terrified he must have been as a small child. 

“A doctor or surgeon couldn’t have mended it?”

“My father never brought me to one. Word might have spread about my father’s violent ways. And there was no other family close to raise me.” He said. “I would still be in Scotland if it hadn’t been for the unfortunate death of a childless cousin. This castle was entailed upon me, his lowly Scottish relative, and through that I was able to escape from that life.” He stretched out his limb; perhaps to relieve some of the ache that had settled in an aged old injury. The poor man was trying to deflect her attention a more lighthearted subject, rather than focus on what was right before them: fathers who did not love their children as they ought. “I never named this place the Dark Castle, you know. Someone in Ashby started calling it that after I became what I am today. Being known as the Beast, my home could only be known as the Dark Castle.” 

In a wave of pity, she gathered him into her arms and brushed her mouth against his cheek. His spicy cologne filled her nostrils. Adam cocked his head and moved his lips along the border of her temple and hairline. 

He had said nary a word about his parents or Scotland before. While it explained why he was so bitter about life, she found herself respecting him. His manners and character were not the best, but he had broken that pattern of abuse and became a better person and an amazing father. If that wasn’t testament to his integrity, she didn’t know what could be.  
Before it became too awkward, she leaned back. Something had to be said before the moment became maudlin. 

“I-I thought you earned the limp during the war.” Belle said.

“War? What war?” Adam asked. 

“The war with the Former Colonies.” She bit her lip to keep from smiling. 

“I - I am forty.” He placed his hand over his heart. “I was only a wee lad of two years when that war started. Surely you don’t think I am that old.”

“I was only teasing you.” She said. 

He stared at her from the corner of his eye. There was a hint of mischievousness.

When her laughter subsided, she took him by the hand. “I’m sorry about your father. You have had more than your share of pain in life. No one should go through what you have.”

“My father planted the seeds of darkness inside of me.” His grasp tightened, his slender fingers coiled around hers. “Those are some deep roots.”

She clutched her stomach, suddenly feeling a pang of guilt. For weeks now she had seen Adam wandering aimlessly in the darkness and while she helped him a little bit in regards to Bae’s death, she had been neglecting him. At first she wanted to keep him at a distance and didn’t care if he was a lost soul. Now that a friendship had bloomed between them, she could not let him revert. Though he was kinder, he was as lost as when she first met him. 

He was only dark because of the absence of light.

“Have you given any thought to religion?” Belle asked. “My faith in God has been the Light of my life.”

“Still trying to convert me, are you?” He lifted his brow. This time he was the one teasing. “My son was the one ray of light in my life until...”

When he left the sentence unfinished, she ventured, “Until what?”

“Until I met you.” Adam touched the side of her cheek, stroking it tenderly. “You are the light in an ocean of darkness.”

Belle didn’t know how to respond to that, but found herself inclining forward, dipping her head. Her lips touched his softly, like the lightest brush of a feather. His lower lip slipped between hers. He tasted like chocolate; he must have drunk a cup in the kitchen before he brought her one. 

Adam stopped, his breath tickling her face. She waited for him to take charge, to show her what to do or how to kiss properly. But he never did. 

“I- I’m sorry. Forgive me, I shouldn’t have-” He recoiled and fled from the room. Only when she heard him go out the front door did she started to breathe again. 

Belle touched her fingertips to her mouth. His lips had left a lasting impression on hers. It wasn’t the same as when Gaston had forced himself. Adam’s caress was gentle, as was kissing him. And then it ended. 

Had she misunderstood what he had been saying? He had called her his light. Wasn’t he professing his feelings to her? Simple friends did not speak to each other like that. He let her kiss him and then he rushed off. Though she was not offended – confused, perhaps- she found her fortitude faltering. Were he to return, she didn’t know if she could face him so soon after such intimacy. 

She crept out of the parlor and ran up the stairs, two at a time, disregarding Mrs. Potts who shouted after her. The housekeeper trailed her into her bedroom. 

“Are you all right?” Mrs. Potts gave her a hug and said, “I’m sorry about what happened earlier. Your father should not have placed you in such a position. And that disgusting Mr. Harcourt, he ought to be horse-whipped-”

“It’s not that.” Belle climbed onto the bed and patted the empty space for her friend to join her. As the older woman sank into the feathered mattress, she massaged her closed lids. “Adam…Mr. Gold and I...I kissed Mr. Gold.”

Mrs. Potts clapped her hands gleefully as she bounced up and down. The bedframe creaked. “I knew it!” She chuckled. “I knew that you loved each other. Imagine how he could help your family.”

“No, we can’t be together.”

“You don’t love him? That is of little consequence.” Mrs. Potts shrugged off her concerns. “He loves you and that can be enough. Many girls have done with less.”

Belle flushed. Certainly Mrs. Potts had not meant…no, she did meant it. A few weeks back Mrs. Potts had hinted that Adam was smitten with her. The housekeeper went as far as suggesting that she should encourage him so that she would be released from the agreement. The idea of dangling marriage and her body in exchange to break the deal was not only distasteful to her, but sickening. 

“Mrs. Potts, how can you propose such things? I am not that sort of girl. Adam and I-” She paused and groaned. Using his Christian name was not helping her argument any. “Mr. Gold may not love me; I may have misunderstood what he was saying to me and acted inappropriately. I could not marry a man without affection. Besides, I couldn’t misuse Mr. Gold to benefit my family. That would be cruel. He is a deep feeling man.”

“Perhaps you have enough love for the both of you.” Mrs. Potts gave her a knowing look. The older woman rose from the bed and quit the room. 

The idea of her loving Adam seemed preposterous… and yet she had kissed him. Her mind had gone blank and her heart had taken over. Never before had she wanted to kiss a man, until him. That had to mean something.

He had first been her enemy and while he was now her friend, that did not equate to love. All the while, the way they embraced and held one another whilst in sorrow, the way he would grasp her hand- those were not physical signs of a mere friendship. It went deeper than that. Now and then he would look at her in a peculiar way. As soon as she would meet his gaze, he would busy himself with something. 

Was Mrs. Potts right? Did Adam love her? If so, for how long and why hadn’t he said anything? And why would he flee like that?

More importantly, did she love him? There was something there. Her heart had been awakened, there was no doubt about that. She had nothing and no one to really advise her. Her source of knowledge of love came from books and for the first time in her life, her books were failing her. 

The one thing she did know for certain was that she wanted to spend the rest of her life by his side. Friends or lovers, either would suit her. 

Belle ran her fingers across her mouth once more. Their kiss was not bad...au contraire, it was quite good. She hoped that he had not been disappointed by her naivety. 

The falling out she had between her and her Father was now forgotten. None of that matter now. Not in the face of love. At least Adam’s kiss diverted her from her sorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/130474596344/dark-night-of-the-soul-chapter-12


	13. Chapter 13

October 1813

Belle sipped the venison stew from her tilted spoon. The silverware clinked awkwardly against her teeth, due to the shaking of her hand. She stole a quick glimpse at Adam. His dark eyes were averted as he slathered butter on a crust of bread. 

Days had passed since she had kissed him. Their budding friendship was now at a standstill. Nothing made sense. If he loved her the way Mrs. Potts persistently claimed, then why didn’t he speak up? To make such heartwarming declarations, accept her kiss and then retreat was silly. On the other hand, he had too much honor to attempt what Gaston had. He was not the sort to take advantage of her. 

_There must be a reason he is behaving in this peculiar manner._ She swallowed another spoonful of stew. The thickness tickled her throat and she chased it down with a drink of water. 

While Adam was at head of the table and she was at the opposite end, Mrs. Potts’ place was in the middle. A housekeeper was never welcome to dine with the master of the house, of course though, neither was a maid. However, there was nothing normal about this household or its owner. The other servants were smart enough not to openly question this latest development. The others went out of their way to avoid them. 

Mrs. Potts had been eating contentedly when she paused and laughed. “How quiet we all are this evening! I suppose our minds are too full of spiritual things, with it being the Sabbath.”

Belle inhaled deeply. Her friend knew good and well why a cloud of tension hovered over the room. Talking of God wouldn’t be enough of a distraction to work. Not when the housekeeper did what she could to promote a union between them. Nothing would delight Mrs. Potts more than to see her set up as the mistress of this great castle and to reform the master. The little woman gave no thought to decorum. Were she and Adam to come to an understanding, there would still be many, many obstacles in their path. 

If only they could discuss what happened between them, then she would know where they stood! Whether love was a possibility, and if so, if he would want to try and have that with her. 

“I assure you, Mrs. Potts, that is not the case for me.” Adam laid his knife down and touched the napkin to his lips. “God is the last thing on my mind.”

“Then you have never given faith any consideration? Not even a little bit?” Belle asked. 

She didn’t know why, but she found herself hoping that some of his skepticism was a façade, like the rest of his prickly disposition. Once she had gotten to know the real Adam, there wasn’t much to dislike. Occasionally he spoke of God, albeit in negative tones. Surely he possessed some kind of belief in Providence.

“Not if I can help it.” He said. 

“I really do miss attending church.” Mrs. Potts declared. “It always made my day.”

“No one is stopping you from going.” Adam shot back. No doubt he thought they were baiting and attacking him. 

Belle felt her temper rise within her. Her friend didn’t deserve to be the brunt of his ill humor. “I’m sure that is not what Mrs. Potts meant.”

Mrs. Potts reached across the table and clasped Belle’s hand. “Please, dear, let us not argue. On a matter as grave as this, the last thing I want is to exchange bitter words. There is a part of my life that I have withheld from both of you.” There was a melancholy in the woman’s eyes that she had not detected before. To Adam, she replied, “The truth is, Mr. Gold, well, I haven’t been in so long- decades, really- that it would feel odd returning. The whole church would probably cave in if I set foot in it. Either that or the Almighty would smite me.”

“Oh, Mrs. Potts, it doesn’t work that way.” Belle said. “That is nothing more than medieval superstition.”

“Perhaps not, but sometimes I can’t help but feel that way.” The housekeeper replied.

Belle recalled the last time she made an attempt to attend church and how it had not ended well. Mrs. Potts was by her side throughout the whole ordeal. Now that she fully considered it, her friend was agitated on the drive there and was trembling before they stepped past the threshold. She had assumed that Adam’s distain for religion had been the sole reason Mrs. Potts had not gone. However, he permitted the other servants to attend services. 

“Why did you stop going, Mrs. Potts?” Belle asked. “Please, tell us. We are all friends here.”

Adam rolled his eyes at the subject of the conversation, but at the moment she felt that her friend needed someone to confide in. If he didn’t want to hear them talk, he could retreat back into his cold, little world that he had constructed for himself. 

“There was a dark period in my life that parted me from my hope. Forty years ago...smallpox swept through the little village I lived in and claimed the lives of my children. All three of them taken from me within days of each other.” Mrs. Potts swiped a large, shiny tear from her cheek. Another soon rolled down in its place. “My husband couldn’t cope with the loss and he left me.”

Belle abandoned her seat and gathered her friend in her arms. No wonder Mrs. Potts had a big heart, she had been a mother. And now it was empty from the loss of her children. 

Adam looked as though he had been slapped across the face. His complexion was ashen. He had not missed the similarities between his life and the housekeeper’s. “I didn’t know that you had a family, Mrs. Potts. I truly didn’t know.” 

“There is a great deal you don’t know about me, Mr. Gold.” The poor woman shuddered, but she did not allow her pain to rule her. She took a breath and continued, “I was lost for a long while. I found my way again.”

“But you still don’t attend church.” Belle said, smoothing the woman’s pretty grey head. “Surely that would bring you support, being amongst others who are likeminded.”

“Not long after their funerals and after my husband’s abandonment, I went to a church service. I was looking for solace and thought my fellow brethren might offer it to me. Instead, the rector told me that it was my fault my children died. He said the Lord was punishing me for an unconfessed transgression.” Unable to find her hanky, Mrs. Potts and heaved a sob into her dinner napkin. Her words became as slurred as a drunkard’s. “Forty years have passed, but I fear that it might be true. Perhaps I did commit some unforgiveable sin. Why else would God take away my children?” 

Belle could scarcely believe her ears. “Absolutely not. Sometimes terrible things happen and no one is to blame. Isn’t that right, Mr. Gold?” She turned to her employer and sent him a nudging look for assistance. She prayed with all her being that he would show a little compassion. There was no predicting what would come out of that mouth of his.

Adam grumbled under his breath. He threw down his napkin and strode over to them. He touched the older woman’s shoulder. “Mrs. Potts, I am not a religious man, but you did nothing wrong. That rector, he did you no favors. He should have offered comfort instead of condemnation. Perhaps someday, it will be made clear to you why your children died. Unfortunately, in this world, I don’t think it will ever make sense. At least for me, it won’t.” He gaze briefly drifted towards Belle and then back to Mrs. Potts. However, the last half of his speech was more directed to the former. “The one thing I do know is that you cannot live in fear. If religion is what brings you joy and support, then you shouldn’t let one, foolish hypocrite ruin that for you.”

The housekeeper nodded. “I suppose you are both right.”

Belle pressed a kiss to the crown of her friend’s head. 

Mrs. Potts managed a watery smile. “Do pardon me for a moment.”

Forcing herself up on wobbly feet, she made her way back to the kitchen to calm herself, leaving Belle alone with Adam. 

Adam shoved the empty chair back in, his head turned in the opposite direction. Was he that ashamed by the kiss they had shared? Did he intend to avoid her for the rest of her stay in his home? As quiet as he was, even he could not bear such solitude.

If either of them were to let down their guard, it would have to be her. Otherwise this unease between them would drag on forever. “What you said to Mrs. Potts, that was very kind of you. I think it helped.” Belle said. “If anyone knows how she feels…” She let the sentence hang since he knew her meaning.

“Who would have thought that me, a dyed-in-the-wool skeptic, could evangelize to a Christian? Your God certainly does move in mysterious ways.” He quipped, his head still lowered. “Wonders never cease.”

She inhaled and took a step closer to him. “Mr. Gold…Adam, don’t you think we ought to discuss what happened that one evening, after my father brought the sheriff over? When we were alone in the parlor-”

“What is there left for me to say, Belle? I am sorry for placing you in that awkward position. I swear to you that it will never happen again.” Adam’s terse tone cut her to the core. Did he not feel what she felt? Or perhaps he dismissed her kiss as some girlish whim on her part. Although, but the way he was talking, he blamed himself for what happened. “How many times do I have to apologize for it? What do you want me to do to atone for it?”

“That wasn’t what I was meant. I don’t regret it, I liked it. I was the one who kiss you, remember?” Warmth flooded her cheeks. She was blushing, but for once it didn’t bother her. 

“I only wanted to know…Did it... did our kiss mean anything to you?” 

His jaw dropped slightly. “More than you can imagine.” He lifted his fingers to her chin and caressed it.

 _Kiss me!_ Belle wished that he would and for a moment she thought that he might. _Kiss me again, Adam!_ When his hand dropped to his side and Adam exited the room, she was left feeling bereft of his company. 

She braced herself against the chair, gasping for breath. “I do love him.” 

#

The following morning, Adam ordered his carriage and went for a ride through Ashby. While he would have liked Belle to have accompanied him, after confessing to her that the kiss they shared meant something to him, he needed some time alone to contemplate what to do next. Not only that, for them to be seen together in public, would only be like the confirmation of the rumors swirling around the town about them. 

The jostling of the carriage reminded him of a ship sailing on treacherous waters, almost mirroring his life. He clutched his abdomen. The movement made his stomach queasy, as though he really were seasick. 

_How does one court a girl?_ The question plagued him relentlessly all night. 

He never courted his first wife Milah. They had known each other for years and decided that as old friends it would be logical for them to wed. Both of their needs would be met. A like regard formed between them, or so it had seemed, for a little while. Even the affair he had with Cora, all the passion that had consumed them… that had been only a distraction from losing his son. He needed something to dull that ache and Cora had come along at the right time. He loved her in a sense, but it was a selfish love. To satisfy himself, he had intended to run off with another man’s wife. Had they stayed together, he and Cora would have destroyed one another.  
Yet what he had felt for Milah and Cora was nothing compared to what he felt for Belle. In his mind, true love was nothing more than the blithering’s of fairy tales. Months ago he mocked such inane notions. But here he was, in love. Violently so, as the romantics would have it.

Adam snapped his fingers. Suitors bought their ladies presents. That was how it was done. 

He banged his fist on the roof of the coach and when it stopped, he climbed out. The shop on the end of the road ought to have something suitable in there for Belle. 

The bell chimed as Adam entered. The owners of the store, the Nolan’s, froze in place when they saw him. Customarily he sent one of the servants to do his shopping or journeyed to London for whatever he required. If he had had enough time, he would have taken a trip there to find Belle something truly special. However he didn’t want to postpone anything in case she changed her mind. 

A pair of lavender kid gloves splayed out on the shelf caught his eye first. They were pretty enough and would fit her tiny hands. He carried them to the counter. 

Mrs. Nolan glared at him unabashedly, one of her thick brows crooked. 

The husband was a bit more subtle, hiding his smirk by ducking his head.

“A box of those bars of chocolate too.” Adam feigned a cough, hoping to distract them. Like a pair of jackals, the Nolan’s were not easily fooled, and thirsted for more information. 

“How is Miss French?” Mrs. Nolan asked, her tone too sickly sweet for it to be sincere. 

“Well enough. No thanks to you or anyone else in this pathetic town.” Adam crossed his arms as he replied. “She would be better if her church friends hadn’t turned against her.” 

Mr. Nolan broke out into a sweat. “We heard about that.”

“Neither of you were present?” Adam asked. 

“Uh, well, we were indisposed that day. With terrible colds.” Mr. Nolan replied. He hacked into his hand. “See, the cough continues.” The owner laid the gloves on white tissue paper, hastily wrapped them and tied it with a bow. 

Adam would bet on his own life that they were lying. They were likely one of Belle’s most vicious accusers. If he found out for certain, he would take them to task for their abuse of her.

Mrs. Nolan fetched a parcel from the storage room and plunked it on the counter. “Do you know if Miss French wants her book yet?” Her lips pinched together.

“Not now.” The owner tugged desperately on his wife’s sleeve. 

“What book is that, dearie?” Before they answered, Adam peeled back the brown paper to reveal the title. He had heard the servants talk of the novel, however, deemed it too sentimental for him to read. 

But it would be ideal for a sentimental, bookworm of a girl. 

He fished through his pocket, paid for his items and toted them out to the carriage. The book was heavy and in three volumes. Hopefully that would please Belle. 

Adam heard a tongue tisking at him. He spun around. 

Gaston and Maurice stood side by side, as though they were knights prepared to slay an evil dragon. If they thought that confronting him in a public place would upset him, then they were sadly mistaken. His reputation meant little to him. 

“I- I can’t believe that you dare show your face in Ashby, after all the evils you have committed.” Gaston’s bruises had long since faded and his handsome looks had once again been restored. The man seemed to relish in the fact that Fate had blessed him. Nearly everyone in Ashby fawned over him. The only one who never gave him a second glance was Belle and Adam could tell that that was what ate at him from the inside out. That was why the fool was desperate for her. “Have you no shame?”

“More than you, evidently.” Adam took a step forward. 

Gaston and Maurice retreated a couple feet. His fearsome manners were good for something. 

“God is a severe judge; you will pay for abusing my daughter.” Maurice pumped his fist in the air. “God will smite you. He will damn you to hell!” 

Adam quirked a brow. “Please, dearie, I was born there.”

Adam decided right then and there that it wasn’t Gaston who he despised the most. Oh, he hated the man plenty. However, it was Maurice French who stoked his ire. While Gaston hurt Belle, it was her father who had wounded her soul. She put on a convincing portrayal of contentment, but he could see through it. Family meant everything to her and hers caused her endless amounts of pain. 

“What astonishes me, Mr. French, is that you took the word of this blackguard over your own flesh and blood. Your child. Your supposed favorite.” Adam approached the older man. Mere inches divided them. Were they not in the center of Ashby, he would have throttled Maurice the way he did Gaston. “If I had my way, I would dispose of you both. For reasons I can’t begin to comprehend, Belle believes in second chances. Out of deference to her, I won’t lay on a finger on you. But trust me, it won’t take much for me to go back on my word. In fact, nothing would please me more.”

Maurice’s eyes were bulging from fright. Red lines streaked the whites. The man’s skin looked deathly grey and sweat beaded from his temples. 

Adam inhaled and exhaled, his chest rising and falling. He had to stop before he gave the man an apoplexy. 

Turning on his heel, Adam climbed back into his coach and slammed the door shut, causing them both to flinch.

#

When Belle heard the horse hooves clapping against the ground, she left the window and went to the desk. She situated the chipped cup of chocolate brew in the center. 

She couldn’t give much to the man who possessed everything, but the small gesture of bringing him a cup of chocolate might do the trick. Perhaps he would take the hint, that she no longer wanted to skirt around the idea of love. If he loved her, then she wanted to find a way for them to be together. 

In their world, gentlemen did not marry farmer’s daughters. However, since the start of their arrangement, nothing about their relationship was traditional. The man himself did everything in his power to flout convention. Perhaps their difference in social station would not bother him.

The door soon opened and Adam ambled through with a couple packages in hand. A smile broke out on his handsome face. “That smells good.” 

“Well, I made it for you. Cook helped me and I did not intentionally spoil it, so it tastes good. ” Belle laced her fingers together, hoping to disguise the fact that she was trembling. She nodded to the three items in his hand. “What are those?”

He placed it all on the desk. “Open them and find out.” He then took a swig of the drink and hummed his pleasure. “The larger one first.”

Unlacing the bow, she smoothed out the paper. “‘Pride and Prejudice.’” She recited aloud, unable to contain her amusement. For someone as reserved as he, she had a difficult time imagine him reading a romance. 

Adam placed the cup back on the saucer. “Mmmhmm. The Nolan’s said that you ordered it but chose not to buy it.” he asked, “Why?”

“The day before you showed up, threatening to take our farm. Compared to food or shelter, a book would have been an unnecessary extravagance.” Belle said. 

“I see. I’m sorry about ruining that for you.” He rubbed the back of his neck and then tapped the cover of the book. “I thought it would make a nice addition to our little library.”

“You know what they say.” Belle bit her lip, hoping that her attempt at flirting wouldn’t fall flat. “The way to a woman’s heart is through chocolate and books.”

“I see. So, chocolate and books are the secret? Is that the way to your heart, Belle?”

“Yes, I believe so.” Her heart fluttered. “It- it is ironic how this book is a reflection of life.” She tilted her head. “From what I understand, Elizabeth and Darcy do not take to one another at first but love blooms between them.”

He blinked. “I...always liked you.”

“You had a peculiar way of showing it.” Belle said. 

Adam slipped his hand behind the base of her neck and guided her to him. His mouth met hers. Unlike their previous encounter, she knew what to do. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and teased his lips with hers. 

“Am I improving?” He murmured, nuzzling her cheek. 

She giggled. “Vastly.” Before he could kiss her again, she held up a finger to stop him. “That kiss, the other night. That was my first. I don’t count what Gaston did or tried to do.” She took a deep breath and ventured to say, “I have never known a man in an intimate way. Nor do I want to until marriage.”

“I know.” Adam turned red. He brought her hands up and grazed his lips over them. “I will never dishonor you.”

Belle nodded. “I trust you.” 

He lowered his lips to hers, his longish hair tickling her nose. She smoothed back his crop, enjoying the softness of it. 

His cane hit the floor with a thud. 

Adam disengaged from her. “I need to get that.”

“No.” Belle kept a firm grip on his elbows. “I’ll hold you up. Just as if I fall, you will catch me. Right?”

“Right.” His hands cupped her face and he pressed his lips to her brow before kissing her, devouring her fully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/131877846354/dark-night-of-the-soul-chapter-13


	14. Chapter 14

Gaston Harcourt snapped his telescope closed and cursed aloud, his panting breath forming into white curls on the frosty air. In a distance Belle and the Beast was strolling arm in arm together, exchanging adoring looks. Whatever animosity that had existed between the two before had long since vanished. One would speak and then the other would laugh. She would kiss his cheek and in return he would plant a kiss in her palm. 

Their little amore was revolting.

A few weeks ago, Maurice had confided to him that he thought the Beast was in love with Belle…Upon hearing that, Gaston belted out a hearty laugh. He figured Maurice’s imagination had gotten carried away. Oh, he wouldn’t be surprised to hear that Mr. Gold used his high station to have his way with the girl. What man in his position wouldn’t if he had the opportunity? What master didn’t sleep with a maid now and then? But the Beast was too harsh and too old for falling in love. 

However this… this sickening display of affection confirmed Maurice’s fears. Unfortunately now it seemed that she returned his affections. 

Despite all of Gaston’s past efforts, from involving her father to spreading rumors about them in town, they were bound to each other. None of it made sense. How could someone as lovely as Belle fall for a man like Gold? The Beast was twice her age, ugly as sin and dull as powder. What did she see in him that no one else could?

He released a string of oaths, shuffling his newest boots in the pebbles of the road. A creamy smear stained the bottoms, though he didn’t care. His servants would tend to them; after all that is what they were for. 

A tall man in plain clothes trekked from the slanted field, passed a ditch and into the road. “Gaston?” Keith Nottingham addressed him. “Are you all right?”

Gaston slid the collapsed telescope into his coat pocket and nodded. “Of course. Did you get it?”

“Aye. Do you have the money?” The man lifted his chin. 

“Of course.” He probed around in his pocket until he found the roll of pounds. He slapped the sweaty papers into the man’s hand. “Should this suffice?”

Keith’s mouth hung open as he counted the bills. His stagnant breath could curl someone’s eyebrows back. The man could not keep away from the bottle. But he was a friend and conveniently the sheriff in these parts, and if the price was right, he would do Gaston’s dirty work. 

Keith poked the money into the sleeve of his boot. From his side, he drew out a horse pistol and flung it to Gaston. He rattled off a slew of information regarding the weapon.  
Gaston was too engrossed in his own thoughts to pay attention. He wasn’t sure when he made the leap from wanting to imprison the Beast to killing him. Perhaps it was when Belle proclaimed to him and her father that she was staying with Mr. Gold as his companion because she wanted to be with him. Only then could Gaston admit that he could never win Belle’s hand and her heart would not be easily affected. Not with that wicked being in her life. Still, taking a man’s life was a big stretch, even for him. But considering all the evil and pain Mr. Gold had caused, in the end he would be doing the whole of Ashby a favor. In the end, the world would thank him for vanquishing evil from this world. 

A cough seized Keith. He spat out a string of phlegm. The man had no couth. “This model can be ordered through the catalog.” He put his large hands on his large hips. “Even that gent Nolan sells it. Cheaper too.”

“I prefer that this transaction stay between you and me.” Gaston said. “This will be perfect. Thank you.” He tipped his hat, hinting to the man that his presence was no longer required. 

Keith had begun to ramble off when he turned back and sniggered, “You aren’t planning on killing anyone, are you?”

“Just a beast.” Gaston said, marveling at the weapon. 

Back home he had plenty of rifles that he could use, however he didn’t wish for it to implicate him. Which was precisely why he used Nottingham to purchase the horse pistol. If Nottingham did speak up, who would believe him? He was a drunken lawman who was easily bribed. Everyone was aware of this. If his original plan failed, at the very least this weapon would lead back to Nottingham. 

_I will get off scot-free._ Gaston thought. _And we shall be free of that beastly Scot._

He waited until the man was no more than a blurry blot down on the road when he took the gun out and extended his arm. The barrel was pointed directly at Mr. Gold. If he wished, he could kill him now and escape without anyone being the wiser. Belle would be too hysterical to figure out the truth. With as many enemies as the Beast had, no one would be able to pinpoint the murderer. 

One shot to that Scotsman’s head and it would all be over. 

He lowered his arm and tucked the gun into a sack. From years of lessons and practice, his aim was truer than anyone else’s in Hampshire. However, the slightest change in a breeze or a sudden movement of the target, and it could throw everything off. He couldn’t risk shooting Belle. If that happened, Mr. Gold would may him pay for sure. 

“Soon Beast, you will be no more.” Gaston growled and headed for home. 

The opportune moment would present itself, God willing. Then everything would be as it should be. Perhaps once he sold off the French farm, he could purchase the Beast’s home outright and make it his own. 

#

Maurice waddled through the Main Street of Ashby, squeezing past a wagon full of newly harvested squash. Lord in heaven, why are you not answering my prayers? He ought to be used to it by now. The Almighty had not responded to any of his petitions for the last few years. Still, he must keep the faith no matter what, as his darling wife Mrs. French often reminded him when she was living. During her final moments, she had encouraged him to trust in the Lord. 

The latest meeting with the constable proved fruitless. The lawman repeated what he had said before. Though Mr. Gold attempted to force his daughter into servitude, no charges could be brought against him because Belle claimed that she was his companion and was now there on her own volition. The idea of his youngest girl sullying herself with that Beast made him physically ill. His nerves had led to a dull ache in his neck and shoulders, one that would not desist. 

He slowed his pace to catch his breath. He was beginning to show his age, but no matter the state of his health, he couldn’t let that hinder him now. His daughters needed him. What would become of the poor wretches when he was gone? There was no extended family who could take them on. When Gold was through meddling with Belle, she would need a place to come back to. Though he had told her that he could never see her again, he only said that to frighten her home. It never occurred to him that she would chose that Beast over her own family. 

“Mr. French!” 

Maurice surveyed the area until he spotted a woman near his age, or a little older, rushing towards him. He had seen her before, but couldn’t place her. 

She fanned her handkerchief close to herself. “Do you remember me?” she asked. 

Her round face, though wrinkled by age and a few wrinkles, was sweet and open. In her youth, she must have been a prettyish sort of creature. The woman’s tiny hands clasped together as though folded for a prayer. 

The last time he had seen this kind lady was when he last called on Mr. Gold. She was one of the servants. The housekeeper, he believed. 

Maurice touched the brim of his hat. “Of course, Mrs. Potts. How are you? How is Belle?”

“I am fine and she is doing well too.” She tipped her head. “You must miss her greatly.”

“It tears me up inside that she is suffering.” He almost brought his fist to his mouth, but stopped, remembering his manners. The last thing he wanted was to appear uncouth before this woman. 

“She isn’t suffering, Mr. French.” As if encouraged by his candor, Mrs. Potts took his arm and began to lead him off. The warmth of her surged through him. It had been more than a year since he felt a feminine touch. “She is being cared for. In fact, I think Belle is happy.”

“How can you say such a thing, after what Mr. Gold has done to her?” Marce felt his heart palpitate wildly at the thought of his daughter alone and ruined. That was not the path her beloved mother had chosen for her. “Certainly a woman as godly as you can detect his wickedness.”

“I do confess, sir, that I originally thought Mr. Gold was wicked. However, Belle has brought out the good in him. She humanizes him.”

“Nothing can humanize that Beast. Not even the Lord Himself. Some souls are destined for hell with no chance of redemption. Please, Mrs. Potts, do send Belle my love.” He grasped her hand and hung onto it for dear life. He had to make her understand that this was a desperate situation, that lives were at stake. “Assure her that we have not forgotten her and we will rescue her. Please encourage her to leave her life of sin and return to us.”

Mrs. Potts blinked and sighed. “What a good father you are, Mr. French. I wish my dearly departed children could have had such a good man in their life.” She added. “What love you have for your daughters.”

The longer he looked at Mrs. Potts, he found it difficult to believe that she was older. Her hair was white and she had plenty of lines, but there was a youthful exuberance about her. He wished that he knew her better. She could be a great friend. But, alas, she was sequestered at that odious man’s home. Only her age protected her from the same scandal that Belle had fallen prey to. 

“What happened to Mr. Potts? How did you end up working for the likes of Mr. Gold?” He asked. “I would think him that last person you would want to serve.”

“Mr. Potts left me after our three children died. He died not long ago, though for years we were estranged. Since he ran off, I needed to find a way to make an honest living. I worked in various homes as a housekeeper. When Mr. Gold and his wife married, they hired me and I have been there ever since.” There was no malice in her words. Any other woman, including the godliest of ladies, would have been eaten up with bitterness, but she seemed optimistic despite the tragedies that she had faced. “The truth is, Mr. Gold wasn’t what he is now. Oh, he wasn’t affable the way most people are, but it is only the last three years that he has…well, if you knew him, you would understand.” 

“How remarkable that you did not wed again.” Maurice said off-handedly. 

The apples of her cheeks grew rosy, making her look years younger. “I never encountered a man that I could marry.” She shrugged and then asked, “And you? Will you remain single?”

“I hadn’t thought about it. Until now.” He nodded to her. “Good day, Mrs. Potts.” 

“Good day, Mr. French.” She continued on to the north end of the town. 

Maurice felt another flurry of palpitations. This time, however, he knew it was not related to his nerves. He remembered that peculiar sensation; he had it when he had first met his wife. No one measured up to his dear Mrs. French and no one ever would. However, he had to wonder if he was meant to be alone for the rest of his years. Perhaps he was meant to marry again.

After all, what did the Good Book say? “…let them marry: for it is better to marry than to burn.”

#

Following their afternoon excursion outdoors, Adam and Belle agreed that they weren’t in the mood for a large meal. The only thing they required was to sit on the rug before a roaring fire and watch the flames dance. 

As soon as the parlor door closed and their privacy was ensured, Belle removed the pins from her hair and allowed her tresses to lie on her shoulders. Ladies did not let their hair fall freely, not even in the isolation of their own homes. Adam longed to run his fingers through her curls, but curbed his desires. The last time he had felt her locks was the day at Ashby pond, when Gaston assaulted her. 

While her back was to him and she was stirring the embers, he massaged his lame limb in the area it had been broken decades before. Since his knee cap had not properly mended, it was prone to aches, especially his joint, in the colder weather. He hated to admit it, but arthritis was beginning to take effect. The last thing he wanted was for her to know. She might remember that he was a good twenty years her senior and come to her senses. 

Belle whirled around. “I have an idea.” She gushed, dropping down beside him. “We could order bread and cheese as a meal. You sandwich the cheese between two slices of bread and stick it on a poker and melt it together over the fire. It sounds plain, but it’s quite good.”

“I am willing to try anything once.” Adam said, reaching for the bell and rang it. After he gave the instructions to the butler, the man gave them a perplexed look, but rushed off to fetch it. “Is this bread and cheese meal something you have a lot with your family?” 

“Not anymore.” A wave of melancholy chased away her giddiness. She toyed with the fringe on her skirt. 

Before he could ask her what troubled her, the butler returned with a plate piled high of bread and cheese. 

Adam fashioned the bread and cheese on the end of the poker as she had described and let it toast over the blaze. “All right, why not anymore?”

Belle took a deep breath and sighed. “It was something my Mother did. Whenever Father was working late in the fields or he was on business in Ashby, Mother would have us sit by the fire and make this meal. She would read to us from the novels of Madame d’Arblay and Maria Edgeworth as we partook.” Her lips trembled. “We haven’t had this meal since before she died. I didn’t have the heart to fix it myself and I don’t think my sisters enjoyed it half as much as I did.”

The first sandwich was ready and he removed it from the prongs, disregarding the heat that penetrated from it. He blew on it and gave it to her. She thanked him and nibbled the crust of it. 

He was cooking the second, debating on whether or not to broach the subject of her mother. Before Belle had confessed her struggles with melancholy after her mother’s death, he had assumed that she had not been close to her mother. He was relieved that they had a good relationship, and it had not been like the one he had with his father. Still, it did not explain as to why she was unusually quiet on the subject. 

Adam removed his portion from the poker and waited for it to cool. He didn’t wish to cause her pain, but he figured it would be better for her to talk about it. He had begun to heal when she encouraged him to reminisce about Bae. 

“Belle, why do you never speak of your mother?” He noticed her outward cringe and claimed one of her hands, rubbing the top of it with his thumb. “You talk of your father and sisters, but never Mrs. French. I have never heard any harm of her.”

“Her death still affects me.” Belle sniffed. She laid her sandwich back on the plate and inched closer to him. “A year has passed but it might as well have been yesterday. We were close; she called me her right hand. I think she sensed that I was prone to melancholy. My full name is Isabelle, but she was the one to give me the pet name of Belle. Then it caught on.”

Isabelle. He never would have guessed. As lovely as the name was, he too preferred to use her pet name. Belle meant beauty and she was a beautiful person, inside and out.

“That suites you. Belle of the Ball. Tell me more.” Adam saw she was beginning to falter and guided her chin upwards. “You can do it, I know you can. Think of your favorite memory of her. One that warms your heart and makes you smile.”

“Every morning she would rise early and pray for the three of us girls and before we began our studies, she would read to us from the Scriptures.” She glanced over to the chaise lounge, where her Bible was and gestured to it. To Belle books were priceless treasures and that one was the greatest of all. He had known many a clergymen who did not revere the Good Book so highly. “Mother cherished her Bible. It is the only thing I have of her. Eloise and Patricia divided all of her other belongings between them, but I grabbed on to that. As long as I have it in my possession, nothing else matters. That Bible has her thoughts penciled in the margins and on blank sheets of paper, she wrote letters to us not long before she died. It was only after her death did I discover the one she had written for me.” 

The more he heard of her, Adam found himself wishing that he had been introduced to the late Mrs. French. She sounded like a fine lady, if there ever was one. She had to be to have raised such a lovely daughter. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand how a man as ridiculous as Maurice won his wife’s heart. Love must be blind. He concluded. After all, there is no accounting for Belle to love me. Perhaps the late Mrs. French was able to wisely influence her husband. With her absence, the man fell prey to his inborn ignorance.

“How did she die?” Adam whispered, thinking if he kept his voice low it would cause her less heartache. 

Belle rested her head on his shoulder. He could feel her tears seeping through his cotton shirt and into his skin. Warm as heated bath water. “Scarlet fever. At least that is how it began, three years ago.” Her words were garbled by emotion. “She had heard of a family struck down with it. Believing it her duty, she went to nurse them. It wasn’t long before she was ill.” 

Adam had been unconsciously stroking her hair, and relishing in the intimacy of the moment. He let his hand go slack. A breath was lodged in his throat. No, it couldn’t be… Three years ago it was his family who had contracted scarlet fever and were struck down. His wife and boy lay dying and the doctor was in the next town. He had a faint memory of a woman nursing them, some farmer’s wife, but after Milah and Bae passed, the woman left. It never occurred to him to find out who she was; it had never been important. 

_Please no! Anything but this!_ Adam pleaded within himself. 

“Mother almost died then but she survived the fever. The sickness weakened her and her heart gave out last winter.” Belle leaned back and said, “When I lost her, I felt like I lost the only person who was on my side. She was the only one who ever fought for me. Except for you.” She kissed him and laid her head on his chest.

He brushed his lips on the top of her head and encircled his arms around her waist. A heavy weight pressed into him and he knew it was not because of her. It was guilt. At long last something finally weighed heavy on his conscience. 

Adam swallowed. “The sick family, did you meet them?”

“No. They never thanked her or paid their respects after she died. I was furious about that; I blamed them for her death.” Belle said. There was a hard edge to her words, one that slice through his heart. 

“What- what would you do if met that family?” He had to ask. He couldn’t stop himself, he had to know. “Do you think you could forgive them?”

“I really don’t know, Adam. Does it matter?” Belle shrugged. “Do you mind if we change the subject? I don’t want to think about them right now. They’re not worth it.” 

Minutes passed. 

When he looked down again, Belle’s eyes were closed and she was dozing against him. Droplets had dried on her cheeks. She looked angelic and fit perfectly in his arms. If only he could bask in this moment. Unfortunately, happiness was not for him. Just when he thought it might be attainable, it slipped through his fingers. 

Adam looked over at the Bible. Its presence in the room was unnerving. If there was a God, He was glaring down on him, passing judgment on his despicable soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/132340634219/dark-night-of-the-soul-chapter-14


	15. Chapter 15

Adam waited until Belle retired for the night before charging into his library. He paced from one end of the room to another and back again. The old wooden horse on his desk caught his eye and white hot rage filled him. He gripped his cane handle and swung the end of it like a cricket bat, knocking the figurine onto the floor. Several blows followed, until the old toy of his was nothing more than disfigured chunks of wood. 

He flinched when he heard someone come in. _Please, don’t let it be Belle._ The last thing he needed was for her to witness his fit of rage when she believed he was freeing his soul of the darkness. How would he explain his tantrum to her?

He was only able to breathe naturally when he saw that it was Mrs. Potts. 

“Mr. Gold, what is it?” The older woman gasped at the sight of the damage he had caused. She squatted and poked through the wood shards, soon realizing that it was a hopeless case. Nothing could repair it. “Why did you do that? Isn’t this the only thing you have from your childhood?”

“Get out!” Adam shouted loud enough for his voice to carry throughout the castle. Unable to control his temper, he hoped that Belle was asleep in bed. “Now, get out!” 

“Oh, for once, talk to me!” Mrs. Potts was not deterred. She flung the door shut and stormed over to him. “Don’t yell, but talk!” 

“Belle’s mother died because of me. I killed Mrs. French! It’s my fault; I killed an innocent woman.” He ran his hand over his face to disguise his shame. Still, there was no escaping the truth. “Mrs. French was the woman who tended to Milah and Bae. She suffered the effects of scarlet fever for years and died. I should have repaid her for her kindness and at the very least found her a London doctor.”

If only he hadn’t wallowed in his grief and shown Mrs. French some kind of charity, as he had always been encouraged to do, he could have prevented that poor woman’s death. At the very least, he could have made the lady’s last days more comfortable. Maybe then Belle wouldn’t have suffered so. The whole French family could have been spared. But due to his selfishness, he caused endless agony to the one he loved most. 

“Poor Mrs. French. That poor, poor family. God be with them.” Mrs. Potts closed her eyes and shook her head in disbelief. “Lord have mercy.”

“He doesn’t.” Adam said. “If He did, He wouldn’t put us through this hell.”

“You cannot blame yourself for what happened. That truly was not your fault. No one with an ounce of logic would blame you. Your worst enemy wouldn’t even blame you either.” She insisted, “Scarlet fever is unpredictable. It was Mrs. French’s time.”

Adam snorted. “Why do people say that? That is as horrible as claiming it was God’s Will.” He suddenly felt restless and resumed his pacing. At the rate he was going, he would wear a pathway in his new Persian rugs. “When Belle learns the truth, she will hate me. She has shown me forbearance for more than I deserve, but this, this is unforgiveable. How could she forgive me for taking her mother from her? This is beyond mercy. It is inconceivable. That woman meant the world to her. Mrs. French was the only one of that whole pathetic family who truly loved Belle.”

“Tell Belle what happened and she will understand. She has a big heart. That is what you love most about her.” Mrs. Potts sent him a pitying glance. “Mr. Gold, the girl is in love with you.”

“No, she isn’t. Not really.” He raised his finger and hissed a reply, “I’m not stupid. Belle- she is only trying to get out of our deal. That is what this is really about. Well, I will not be manipulated. Neither of you will get the best of me.”

Mrs. Potts crossed her arms. By her scolding maternal look, he was made to feel foolish. “You and I both know that is a falsehood if there ever was one and I could smack you for saying it out loud.” She added, “Do you want to know the truth, Mr. Gold? I knew that you loved that girl from the moment you laid eyes on her, which is understandable. When Belle first came here, I tried to persuade her that it would be best for her and her family if she would encourage you romantically. She fought the idea because it was unchristian and because she thought you were a deep-feeling man. ‘Deep-feeling man’- those were her words. Even when she disliked you, she greatly respected you.” 

Adam threw his hands in the air and swore at her. “Damn you! How could you do that to me? You ought to be dismissed! I should throw you out on to the streets!”

Mrs. Potts didn’t budge from her spot. “Perhaps it was wrong of me to interfere, but I had her welfare in mind. Besides, I knew you loved her and thought once she got acquainted with you, she would love you too. And I was right. She truly loves you.” Her head cocked to the side, her expression softened. “You have it fixed in your mind that you are some kind of beast, but that isn’t so. I remember how you were with the young master. You adored Bae; you practically worshipped the ground that he walked on. For a while you walked in darkness, but you have found love again. There is nothing more redeeming than love.”

“No, stop saying that! I am awful; you should have intervened when saw what I was doing. I have spoiled everything.” His thoughts were racing and he knew he wasn’t making sense, but the words poured out of him. “I can’t marry Belle now; once she learns the truth, she won’t have me. I ruined both of our lives. You should have stopped me, but now it’s too late!”

“I did warn you!” Mrs. Potts cried out. “That first day, I warned you that this arrangement was insane. You only have yourself to blame. For once, do what is right. Tell her the truth. Mr. Gold. She deserves that much-”

Adam held up his hand. “Not another word. Just leave me alone.”

Mrs. Potts’ shoulders drooped in defeat. “Very well, sir, if that is what you wish. You may be alone.” She left quietly, but knowing her, that was not the end of what she would say on the matter. 

He collapsed into one of the chairs near the fireplace and groaned. Was it all an act? Perhaps Belle was only using him. 

Then he recalled how kind she was to him in regards to his son and how broken up she had been when speaking of her mother. The kisses they shared and the caressing…no, all of that was genuine. Aside from her spoiling a few meals and breaking a handful of valuables, Belle had always been honest with him. She confessed her shortcomings to him, knowing it could have had grave repercussions. No, Mrs. Potts was right. 

For all that he was, the good and the bad, Belle loved him. If only that were enough.

Adam looked up to the ceiling expectantly, envisioning Someone perched up there on a majestic throne. God was sitting back, as though He were watching a Greek tragedy unfold. He was acting more like a member of the audience than the director of it all. There were many occasions in his life when Adam wished that he had faith. He had attended church to fit into society and to show Bae that is what a respectable man did. Religion never meant much to him. As he had said before, he never had given it a thought.

Belle was the only person in the world who made God like a possibility to him. Despite her losses and misfortunes, her faith was genuine. Mrs. Potts had said that what he loved most about her was her big heart. That was only part of it; he loved the goodness and the hope she possessed. 

Adam folded his hands. He was not a praying man. The only exception was when Bae was on his deathbed. He made every deal with God that he could think of and still, his son died. What was the point of praying after that? There was nothing else worth speaking to the Lord about. No amount of words could change what happened or improve the situation. 

Only now that his many transgressions caught up with him could he find the words. 

“How could You do this to me? Was it not enough that You allowed my father to beat the hell out of me daily, You killed my wife and then You took my boy, my pride and joy, from me? Must You continually crush me?” He didn’t know if he was speaking to God or Jesus, or both. Whoever it was that was in control of the universe, he wanted that Being to sit up and take notice of him. For once, he wanted something to go right in his life. “What have I done to make You hate me? What is it that You want from me? Do you like to watch me suffer? Is that it?” He swallowed a string of curses, thinking that oaths did not belong in a prayer. His words were dripping with fury, but he had to show a little reverence. “I find this wonderful, beautiful woman to love and You can’t help Yourself. You have to ruin that too. On top of that, You cause her endless pain. At the very least, if You despise me that much, will You stop interfering in my life? Just stop!”

He paused. 

Nothing. 

There was no answer. No explanation, no miraculous sign, no mighty voice from the heavens. His words had fallen upon deaf ears. In the end, he could only rely on himself. 

#

Maurice kneaded his neck, in hopes of working the pinch out of the achy muscles. If anything, his touch made it worse. A bead of sweat rolled down from his temple. Whilst the fire was no more than a smolder, his skin felt as though it were blistering. He tugged at his collar and though it would be improper, he unlaced his cravat and fanned himself with a newspaper. 

His middle daughter’s high-pitched voice intensified as she flounced into the parlor. “Father, the Nolan’s wouldn’t extend our credit until we pay on our bill.” Patricia tore off her bonnet and flopped down across from him. “So I went to Clark’s and they opened an account for us there.” 

Though she was staring right at him, Patricia did not detect his discomfort. Were Belle there, she would have noticed and immediately tended to his needs. His chin began to quiver at the thought of his youngest daughter demeaning herself with that Beast. She had such a bright future, more so than what her sisters had and now it was over. In fact, as soon as the Beast was through with her, Belle would sink further still. No one would welcome her into their homes or desire her company. Making a suitable match would be impossible. She would have to disappear from all good society; otherwise she and the rest of the family would be subjected to further scrutiny. The more thought he gave to the matter, he realized he would be faced with a heart wrenching decision. But there was no other way around it.

When Belle returned home in disgrace, he would have to send her far away, where no one knew her or of her sins. That would be the only way to ensure his family’s wellbeing. Otherwise she would taint them by association.

Eloise traipsed through the room and stood before her sister. “We can’t go around putting things on the books. It is irresponsible, Patricia.” She scolded, shaking her finger. “Belle would never have done that. She would have done something practical and encourage us to manage. We have preserves that can suffice for a little while.”

Patricia stuck out her lower lip. Her only defense was pouting. “Oh, Father, we are going to starve!” She flung herself across the arm of the lounge and wailed. 

“Oh, Patricia!” Eloise tried to shout above her sister’s cries, but it was no use. “Don’t be so ridiculous! If Belle were here-”

Patricia straightened herself and chanted, “Belle, Belle, Belle!” She gnashed her teeth at her. “Belle is not here anymore and she is never coming back! She might as well be dead. Why, soon enough we will all be dead!” 

Maurice thrust himself up and put one of his large legs in front of the other, until he grasped the mantel. He gripped it, his fingernails clawing into the wood. They left little crescent indentions behind. He touched his forehead to it, squeezing his eyes shut so he would no longer see the swaying world before him. Blood pumped through his veins at an alarming rate. His heart squeezed.

He grunted and flopped to the floor, limp as a dead fish. His limbs tingled. Numbness worked its way down to his left arm. 

“Father!” Eloise hovered over him, fumbling with his hand. “Father, please!” Her lips continued to move but he heard nothing more. 

Maurice decided to close his eyes. Just for a few minutes, until the pain ceased. 

#

Belle awoke later than usual. She rolled onto her back and stretched, moaning out loud. Her body was a little weary from the previous day’s walk, but mostly from the sad conversation she had yesterday evening. It had sapped her of her strength. 

The grandfather clock out in the hall chimed nine times. Now it was too late for breakfast. She didn’t wish to disturb the other servants’ routine when they had other chores to occupy them. Most of them resented her enough as it was. As soon as she tended to her toilette and dressed, she went downstairs in hopes of finding Adam. Her search turned up empty. He was not in his library or the parlor, nor did she stumble upon him elsewhere in the house. 

The servants she encountered along the way answered her questions civilly, but their spiteful stares tore through her soul. They all believed that she was intimate with the master. They looked upon her as they would look upon a harlot. They would never like her or respect her, no matter how hard she tried.

 _No, they view me as his kept woman._ She thought sadly. 

Belle flung her cloak around her shoulders and slipped on the lavender gloves that he had purchased for her. 

She circled the castle and garden and was beginning to feel anxiety well up inside of her. Where is he? Adam had seemed distant last night after she had spoken of her Mother. Had she said something that offended him? 

The door to the iron rod fence shrilly screeched open. She dashed around to the front, through the garden, expecting to find him there. She laughed when she saw Eloise instead. Neither of her sisters had called upon her since Father turned his back on her. They would never cross him, unless Father had a change of heart. 

“Eloise!” Belle threw herself into her sister’s arms. “I missed you!” She stepped back. “Eloise! Why are you crying?”

Eloise’s complexion was ashen, except for her red-rimmed eyes and pink nose. She shook from head to toe. “It’s Father.” 

“My Father is dead?” Belle pressed her fist to her chest and released an anguished cry. “No, please, no!”

The last time she had seen him, when Father had rejected her, she wanted nothing more to do with him. She had the chance to reconcile with him but didn’t because of her spite. God forgive me! I brought strife to my family and he died a broken man!

“No.” Her sister shook her head. “No, but he is dying. It’s his heart.”

“He wants to see me, he has sent for me!” A lump formed at the back of her throat. 

Eloise shook her head. “No, but you must go to him regardless. Please, Belle, please come home!”

Footsteps rustled through the grass and the pace slowed as it neared them. Belle looked over her shoulder.

Adam was standing behind her, disturbed. He was not fond of her Father; however he wouldn’t have wished this. She wanted nothing more than to propel herself into his comforting embrace, but with her sister present, she didn’t. 

Eloise grabbed her by the shoulders. “Please, Belle, please come home. I don’t think he will survive the day. He is weak and lifeless. He only has a few hours. Please!”

Belle had started to follow her sister and froze. She glanced at Adam and then back at Eloise. In a small voice, she said, “I don’t know if I can.”

It had been weeks since she and Adam had discussed it or redefined their agreement, but one fact remained: she had indentured herself. Perhaps English law would never recognize it as binding, but she wanted to uphold her end of the bargain. Though much had changed between them, she didn’t know if she was free to come and go as she pleased. She didn’t wish to use their attachment to break her promise. 

Eloise broke away and charged at Adam. “Mr. Gold, I am begging you, just let Belle tell our Father good-bye.” She clasped her hands together. “That is all I ask. She will come back and fulfill her agreement to you, I promise. She will never leave you again. Please!”

He wore a disgusted grimace. “That is unacceptable, Miss Eloise.” He motioned towards the castle. “Come with me, ladies.”

Adam ambled back inside. They trailed after him to the library. He jerked open the desk drawer and withdrew a single sheet of paper. 

Eloise faced her in bewilderment. Belle shrugged. She couldn’t begin to explain him, let alone what he had in store for them. There were many things about him that she didn’t understand and never would. 

He crossed to the other side of the room and picked up the book he had given her. Carrying both, he thrust them into her hands. “These are your indenture papers and ‘Pride and Prejudice.’” His expression was hard and he wouldn’t look her in the eye. “Take them and go now.”

Belle felt her lungs constrict. Her head was spinning. “W-what about our d-deal? I thought-”

“It’s done. I am canceling the debt. Your family’s property is safe from me. It’s of no use to me anymore. You can go home now.”

“What about us? What about you and me?” Belle asked. She passed the book and the indenture paper off to Eloise. “Adam, I thought-” 

“You thought what? That we could live happily ever after?” Adam scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “You thought wrong.” He sounded as cold and beastly as when she first met him, but his averted eyes were betraying him. They always betrayed him. 

Considering what had passed between them the night before, she couldn’t understand why Adam was putting his mask back on. He had to know that she loved him, that she would hold nothing back from him. If he didn’t, she would do whatever she could to convince him of it. 

“Adam, stop it! I want to be with you.” Belle attempted to wrap her arms around his neck but he caught her wrists and brought them back down to her sides and forced her towards her sister. “I love you. Its true love!”

“No, it’s not. It was a dalliance, that is all.” A cruel smirk quivered across his lips, but it was false as his coldness. “I’ve had my fun, now I’m through with you, dearie.”

Belle covered her mouth, stifling a whimper. 

She closed her eyes for a minute, to ward off her own tears. This couldn’t be happening! He wasn’t making sense. Last night he had shown her more love and tenderness than she had ever known and now he was back to being the Beast. No, even as the Beast, he was never vindictive in regards to her reputation or her character. For all of his faults, he didn’t ruin young ladies for sport. For whatever reason, he was driving her away intentionally; either because didn’t think he deserved her or he thought he couldn’t make her happy.

“No, you just don’t think I can love you. You will regret this, Adam. All you will have is an empty heart and a chipped cup.” Belle said. 

Adam visibly cringed, but set his mouth in a firm line. He was not going to give in. 

Looking over his shoulder, she noticed her Mother’s Bible on an end table. One of the servants must have moved it in there for her. It had more than served its purpose in her life and now it would work a miracle in his. 

Belle grabbed it and flexed it, pressing her thumbs into its soft cover. She held it out to him. “I want you to have this.”

“I don’t want that damn-” Adam recoiled from it. 

“No, you need it more than I do.” She beseeched. When he refused to touch it, she laid it on his desk.

Belle felt her sister’s judging glare on her, but disregarded it. She rushed back to him and kissed him fully on the lips. He was rigid beneath her, as though he were holding all of his emotions and love inside, refusing to give into it. Though he didn’t kiss her in return, she could feel it. He was denying it, but he still loved her.

Adam tore away from her, sneering, “Get out.”

No matter how hateful he was behaving, nothing he did could diminish what she felt for him. Her Mother had taught her that love was patient and kind, but above all, love was a choice. 

“Good bye, Adam.” Belle replied. 

Eloise possessively drew her away by the arm and propelled her outside. Her sister seemed convinced that if they did not move fast enough, that he would come after her and reclaim her.

Belle left through the fence, she glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Adam at the window. 

He wasn’t there. 

“I am coming back, Adam.” She said under her breath. “I promise.” 

Adam had to know deep down how much she loved him and whatever happened, wild horses couldn’t keep her away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/132812525864/dark-night-of-the-soul-chapter-15


	16. Chapter 16

Eloise ushered Belle up the stairs, too flustered to offer an explanation. Patricia was doubled over in the hallway, shrieking her sobs. Patricia had always had a penchant for the hysterics, but there was sincerity in her current fit. Despite her shallowness, she sounded as though her soul was being ripped out of her body.

 _Please God, am I too late?_ Belle wondered. _Please, no!_

She had barely entered the room when she found her Father laid out in bed, white as the bed sheet tucked under his doubled-chin. Forgetting her cloak and lavender gloves, she perched on the edge of the bed and cradled his hand in hers. The material did not protect her from his chilled skin.

His short lashes fluttered. His clouded grey eyes focused and on her, he whimpered, “Belle! My darling girl! I thought I would never see you again.” He brought her knuckles to his rounded cheek. “God be praised, you escaped that Beast. You are free!”

 _Thank you, Lord!_ She thought. He might be beginning to slip away, but at least she had enough time to say her good-byes.

She petted him, as she would a little lost dog. Weeks had passed since she had last seen him, however, he looked as though he had aged many years and lost several pounds. The choices she had made had broken his spirit. Initially she had thought she was doing the right thing, for her family and for herself. Sacrificing for those you love, there was no greater honor. Originally, she had figured life would continue on as it always had and that after their debt was paid, she would return home and pick up where she left off. It had never occurred to her that her absence would wound her loved ones. Instead her actions possibly sent her Father to an early grave.

“No, Father, Mr. Gold released me from our agreement.” She changed the subject, thinking that should ease his worries. “All will be well now. I have much to tell you all.”

“That Beast! The devil take him! It is a trick.” The reassurances she had offered him had the opposite effect. His frantic words penetrated through his clenched teeth. The vein in his neck bulged. A cold sweat broke out onto his brow. “He is going to destroy us all. He will force us off this land. Then where will we go? I’ll die off and leave you girls as paupers. You’ll have to live in Lower Ashby amongst the harlots.” He thrashed his head against the pillow. “I can only praise the Lord that your Mother isn’t here to see our downfall. It would have broken her heart.”

Belle bit her lip. She had wanted to wait a little while longer before telling them of her love for Adam. However, if Father were dying, he could leave them in peace knowing that there was no longer a threat against them.

“Adam…Mr. Gold isn’t like that. Not anymore. He is a changed man.” The blood rose to her face, creating a scarlet flush. Despite how Adam was behaving when they parted, she had seen his heart and detected the goodness there. No mask could disguise it. “I am in love with him.”

Patricia gasped and started to fan herself with a hanky. Eloise propped her up in case she swooned.

Despite his weakened condition, Father sternly gripped her chin. “Never say that.” He started to cry. “Oh, no, he took advantage of you. He manipulated you.”

“No, that’s not true. Adam loves me, I know he does.” Belle shook her head, nudging his hand off. Though her Father couldn’t help it that he wasn’t thinking clearly, she didn’t want him to despise Adam. If only they could perceive the goodness in him that she had discovered. Surely she wasn’t the only one in the world who could see it. “I want to marry him.”

“Why would he marry you when he already got what he wanted for free?” Father grunted, then flung his arm across his forehead. “What is going to become of you? You are damaged goods. No decent man will take you now.”

She clutched her chest. His words pierced her soul. Was that how he viewed her? Could she ever convince him that her relationship with Adam had been chaste? Father didn’t know Adam, but he knew her. Why didn’t he trust her?

“It wasn’t like that, really.” Belle insisted. “What we had- it was magical. It was beautiful.”

Eloise cleared her throat. “Belle, perhaps we can talk of this later.”

Her sister was right. They were only going around and around in circles, nothing was being settled. He would only become more agitated and say things he would end up regretting.

Belle kissed his dampened brow. “Rest, Father. I am here now. We’re all together again and that is what matters.”

Father nodded and she watched as within minutes, he slipped off to sleep.

#

Belle slid beneath the covers and eased her head onto the pillow. After months of sleeping in a fancy bed by herself, she found the one that she shared with Eloise cramped and lumpy. The room was dank and she could only be warmed by the layers of quilts on top of her. With each gust of wind outside, a draft circulated through the room. When they were little girls, the three of them could only keep warm by snuggling together. Now that she thought of that, she had never been cold in Adam’s Dark Castle. Either the fires kept her cozy or his embrace did.

Her sister lay down on the other half of the bed. “I’m glad you are home.” She sought her hand. “This household has been in continual uproar from the moment you left. I tried really hard, but only failed. Only you can set things right. You are our Mother’s daughter. No wonder she called you her ‘right hand.’”

“You are different.” Belle said after studying her sister.

Patricia hadn’t changed one iota. She was as loud and ridiculous as she used to be. In many ways she was worse. However Eloise had grown steadier and she was not so easily influenced by Patricia.

“With you gone, someone had to be responsible. It certainly wasn’t going to be Patricia or Father. I regret that the burden of our family had all been on your shoulders.”

“Loving you all has never been a burden.” She assured her. “It has been the greatest gift.”

“Still, from now on I will share the responsibility.” Eloise then said, with a slight giggle,

“Is it true? Do you love the Beast?”

Belle winced. Now that she knew all that she knew, to hear Adam referred to as the Beast made her want to cry. If only others had taken the time to reach out to him, they would see his tender heart.

“Please, don’t call him that. His name is Adam Gold and yes, it is true; I do love him. I love all of him; even the parts that belong to the darkness.” She felt a twinge from within her chest. “Mrs. Potts, his housekeeper, said so from the beginning, but it wasn’t until lately that I realize how right she was. If only you could truly know him.”

Her sister’s dark eyebrows rose. “What about Gaston Harcourt?” Eloise reminded her.

Belle shivered. Weeks of friendship and blossoming love had chased away bad memories of Gaston. Now that she was parted from Adam and under her childhood roof, she felt uneasy. Without him to watch out for her, she believed herself to be more vulnerable. Certainly, after she publically admitted what Gaston attempted to do, no one in her family associated with him.

“Eloise, he tried to rape me when I refused him. What I feel for him is revulsion. Father didn’t tell you?” Belle noted her sister’s astonished reaction and was thankful that at least Eloise believed her. She went on to add, “Mr. Gold defended me. He was a true gentleman, he... For all of his vices, he has many more virtues. He is the best man that I know.”

“Belle, he is not religious.” Her sister put in gently.

No, Adam was not religious. However his lack of belief did not diminish her faith any. She was not less of a Christian for loving him.

“I know, but I still love him. He carries a pain deep inside of himself.” Belle stopped before she said too much. He had not given her permission to share his story with others. The love he had for his son was his alone and not to be gossiped about. He had confided in her because he trusted her; the last thing she wanted was to betray that. “Nothing can free him.”

Eloise drew her into her arms and held her. She smoothed back Belle’s curls. “There is only one thing that can be done. We must pray that Mr. Gold finds healing.”

Belle squeezed her eyes shut. _Lord in Heaven, please be with Adam._

Adam had made great strides in such a short amount of time; she hoped that he would not revert back to his cold ways.

#

Adam sank down on the floor before the fire place, staring hard into the blaze, mesmerized by the flames. It was the only source of light in the parlor. All of the other candles had died out. The darkness matched his soul and suited his current mood. He shifted to a particular spot, where he and Belle had reclined and dined on bread and cheese the evening before she left. In his free hand was the Bible she had presented him.

 _Throw it in._ A little voice taunted. _All it is good for is kindling._

How could someone as brilliant as Belle be fooled by such myths? Yet her faith was unshakable. Of all the Christians he had encountered over the years, at least her faith was real. That much he could admire. In all likelihood, she relied heavily on religion because of the losses she had experienced.

He flexed the book, wishing he could tear it into shreds. He was about to pitch it in when he remembered that aside from the chipped cup, it was all he had left of Belle. Her belongings were sent back to the French farm not long after she departed and he hadn’t thought to select a keepsake. If he were to never see her again, then at least he had her most important possession. Never mind the fact that he detested the Word of God.

He cracked open the Book and skimmed through the first line. “In the beginning…” he grumbled. “What a sham.”

He drew back his arm and hurled it at a wall. His aim was off and it hit a vase. Both crashed onto the floor; the vase shattered into dozens of pieces and the Bible landed open on its pages. It was propped up like a crude army tent.

The door was flung back on its hinges, the light stung his eyes. He shaded his face.

Mrs. Potts bobbed over. “What was that?” She clucked her tongue at him. “Oh, Mr. Gold, for heaven’s sakes! Do you not fear God? He could strike you down for such wickedness.”

“Don’t be an idiot. That Book means nothing! It is nothing more than a collection of fairy tales.” Adam balled his hand around the handle of his cane, longing to smash something else. As soon as she left, he would destroy another breakable bauble. “If God cared at all about me or any other wretched soul in this world, He wouldn’t put us through constant hell.”

Mrs. Potts moaned and groaned as she squatted down beside him. She rubbed her knees. “You are not the first parent in the history of mankind to have lost a child. Perhaps God is teaching you a lesson. He is using your grief to draw you close to Him.”

“Don’t say that!” He shouted. “If God wanted to teach me a lesson or get my attention, He should have killed me instead. Taking my child from me, that was salt in an open wound.  
I mean, really? My father was a violent bastard, my wife and child died, and now for the first time in years, I feel love and God destroys that too.”

As wretched as it was to have had a violent father, he refused to allow that to weigh him down. Now and then he would feel a pang, a simple reminder that he didn’t allow himself to heal from that. He merely moved on and pretended it never happened. Having a failed marriage and losing Milah was heart wrenching. Yet all of that had been overshadowed by Bae’s life and death. Bae’s birth liberated him from his painful past and gave him new hope. Whatever horrible things that happened in life were of no consequence; not when he had his child to redeem him daily. Then his boy’s death brought an end to what little happiness he did have. Only when Belle entered his life did he begin to feel again.

“If that is God’s concept of love, then pardon me, but I want nothing to do with Him.” Adam declared.

To his amazement, Mrs. Potts hadn’t flinched at his sharp words. She looked at him through watery eyes. “If you had a choice, to have prevented all that turmoil, would you have preferred not to have had your child? And avoided having met Belle? That certainly would have been easier.”

Adam released a sharp sigh. He couldn’t imagine his life differently, he didn’t want to. Though life had brought him more than his share of agony, it had brought him joy too. His mother died not long after he was born, therefore he had no love or regrets about her. As much as he had despised his father, he wouldn’t have wished for another father. The hurt from that broken relationship made him who he was. Not only that, it eventually led to Bae and Belle, the true loves of his life. The two of them were worth all the beatings in the world, as well as a lame leg to boot.

“No.” He admitted.

Her lips pursed determinedly. “Unfortunately, with great love comes great pain. Learn to cherish the memories of Bae, and be open to a new love.” She softened her tone. “Belle entering your life, that was not a mistake. Perhaps you will find healing with her. I can’t believe the Lord would bring her to you only to rip her away.”

God never bothered to intervene in his life before, why the Almighty would start now made no sense. If God had wanted to make amends for the agonies he had endured, He could have started with sparing Bae. For God to act now was insulting. The half-hearted attempts of such a Deity had no effect on him.

He shrugged it off. “Belle is too good for me. She knows of the darkness that resides in me. In the end, she will follow what the Bible dictates and not give me a second thought.”  
Mrs. Potts fell silent. The housekeeper had to admit that he was right. Belle was sincere in her faith. She would not deviate from that narrow path. Not for him. There might be some temptation, but she would no more compromise her beliefs than he would feign a faith he did not have.

In the end it was better that Belle had returned to her home and attempted to repair her life. Perhaps they could have been happy for a while, but it wouldn’t take long for him to drag her down. He had attended enough church services and heard enough Scriptures read by the rector to see the writing on the wall. Believers and non-believers could not be together. The darkness in one would kill the light in the other. If he destroyed her, it would also be his undoing. She had to hate him after what he said to her before they parted; it was best if she did. Implying that he was only meddling with her was disgusting. It was the beastliest thing he had ever done, but he it was for her own good. If Belle hated him, she would heal sooner and forget all that they shared.

As for himself, he had no idea what would become of him. She had been his moral compass. In all likelihood, he would revert back to his old ways and it would be as it was before. He would go around causing others trouble, taking what he could and leaving nothing to chance. Life would go on.

A droplet fell on his chin.

Adam looked up. The ceiling wasn’t leaking, yet he felt more moisture on his cheek. _Ah, that came from me._ Within seconds, he was crying as hard as he had when Bae died.

Mrs. Potts wrapped her arms around him and he found himself sobbing on her thick shoulder. Was this how it felt to have a parent that cared? “It is never too late to become what you were meant to be.” She framed his face with her hands and maternally kissed the crown of his head. “A choice lies before you, Mr. Gold: death or life.”

He found himself nodding. A man could be alive without actually living. If he continued on as he used to, it would eventually lead to death, body and soul.

Adam whispered a raspy, “Thank you.”

Mrs. Potts drew back from him, retrieved the Bible and laid it beside him. “Give it another try. What do you have to lose?”

“Aside from my sanity? Nothing, I suppose.” Adam said.

He waited for her to shut the door before opening the Bible once more. Perusing, he came to the section that he was most familiar with: the 23rd Psalm. That one was read at Milah and Bae’s funeral. However, there was something different about it this time. He was drawn to the third verse, which had been faintly underlined with a pencil.

“‘He restoreth my soul…’” Adam said aloud.

Over the years he had been repeatedly chastised for not having a soul. Whether those who said it really believed it or not, he couldn’t tell. There were times that he too quipped about being born without one. At some point along the way he had come to accept it as truth. The only time he felt human was when he was a father.

He wondered if Belle had been the one to underline that verse. Perhaps it was in the midst of her period of melancholy after her mother’s death.

“Wait.” He said, remembering what Belle had told him of this Book. “This was her mother’s Bible first.”

The pencil line was faded, no more than a whisper on the page. Mrs. French must have made those marks as she lay dying. That poor woman had no hope of recovery. She had to know that her time was at hand, that she would soon be parted from the husband and daughters she loved. Yet somehow through it all, she endured and kept the faith.

 _“On blank sheets of paper, she wrote letters to us not long before she died.”_ Belle had confided to him days earlier.

He flipped through and found multiple folded sheets of paper in the back. One of them had the name Belle inscribed on it. Though it was an invasion of privacy, he couldn’t help himself. She wouldn’t have left her mother’s letters in there if she hadn’t wanted to share them. Besides, he had to know what was going through that brave woman’s mind before she faced her demise.

_My dear Belle,_

_Only Providence can measure time by grains of sand, but I know my hour is nigh. You are constantly on my mind, my darling girl. You are not like the others. There is a vulnerability about you, yet the spirit within you is stronger than the rest of us combined. You have an innate goodness that the remainder of the world strives for._

_Still, I fear that my passing will leave you broken. You have a beautifully tender heart. You call yourself “odd” and feel as though you don’t belong anywhere. How can you expect to be like other girls when you were born to stand apart? I love how you and I share an appreciation for the written word. Books lay the world at your feet. However, do not limit yourself completely to books. Life and love is the greatest adventure._

_Your Father has a match in mind for you, however I feel that this man is not the one. All that glitters is not gold. There is someone out there, your equal and your one true love. Your true love will inspire you to be your best self, just as you will inspire him. Sometimes love happens upon us when we least expect it, in the most unlikely places._

_Remember: there is a little goodness in everyone. Sometimes it just takes a pick and a shovel to find it._

_When the time comes, you must stay strong and follow your heart, choose your own path. Don’t be influenced by others. Do the brave thing and bravery will follow._

_Keep the faith._  
_With all my love,_  
_Mother_

Adam closed his eyes and shook his head. He wasn’t sure what he had been hoping for. In the end his worst fears had been confirmed. Mrs. French wouldn’t have wanted Belle to marry him either. The lady would have been as appalled by him. She would no more sanction Belle to marry him than her husband would. No, as wise and sainted as Mrs. French was, she would not permit Belle to have her way in this.

The only thing he could rejoice over was the fact that Mrs. French didn’t want Belle to be with Gaston Harcourt either. Belle needed a good man- a nice, religious man who was honorable.

Adam stuck the letter back in the Book and left it on the floor. He propelled himself upwards and hobbled to his desk. The chipped cup was on the desk.

Picking it up, he kissed it fervently. “Forgive me, Belle.”

The only place he could find comfort was in the fact that he dearly loved her. Yes, she was his idol, his graven image. So what of it? Everything else- God or Providence- paled in comparison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/133732970324/dark-night-of-the-soul-chapter-16


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Violence and gun violence. Three characters are shot and one dies.

November 1813

Belle clutched the post at the foot of the bed while Dr. Whale examined her Father. The physician, whose striking looks won the approval of her sisters, pressed his ear to the older man’s chest to listen to his heart and then took his temperature. By candlelight, he looked in the older man’s eyes and checked the color of his tongue. 

In the two days she had been home, Father had improved drastically. Pink pigmentation returned to his skin and he no longer felt as chilled as a marble statue. The clouded look in his eyes had diminished. He no longer babbled on senselessly and sounded more like his old self. Still, she imagined the worst, that his heart was giving out or he had caught a deadly fever, just as Mother had. What would she do without him? Though fully grown, Belle felt she was too young to be without both of her parents.

Her sisters cowered in the corner, as if that short distance could protect them from the inevitable. In her typical dramatic fashion, Patricia was sniveling into her hanky. Eloise was composed, albeit too frightened to venture much closer. 

The doctor tapped his chin. “Well, Mr. French, your pulse is steady and your color is ruddy. In my opinion, it was not your heart.” He returned his medical instruments to his bag and snapped it shut. “I think it was a serious attack of the nerves. When the human body is unable to handle duress, it will collapse in a sense. I can prescribe a tonic, but the best thing you can do is take a long rest, go for walks in the sunshine, and eat plenty of fruits and vegetables. Try not to become so heavy-laden again. Otherwise such anxiety will wear your heart out.” 

Though her sisters were her seniors and ought to have been the ones consulted, Dr. Whale sensed that she was in charge and addressed her instead. “Miss Belle, if there are any alterations, do send for me immediately.” 

“What about the bill?” Eloise asked. 

“Already taken care of. Your family has an intriguing benefactor.” He donned on his hat once more, tipped the brim of it to her and quit the bedroom. 

“What a relief!” Belle said, hopping from one foot to the other. She threw her arms around her Father and kissed his warm cheek. “Thank God.”

“Now everything can return back to normal.” Patricia wadded up her handkerchief and tossed it aside. Gone were her tears as well. She was all smiles, for there was nothing else in the world to trouble her pretty little head about.

“Eloise, dear,” Father lifted his head off the pillow and signaled to his oldest daughter. “Would you go to Gaston Harcourt and inform him of the good news? He will be overjoyed, no doubt. And invite him for dinner. I may not be able to join you all for a few days yet, but you girls can entertain him.”

“I don’t think that would be wise, sir.” Eloise said. 

Belle exclaimed, “Father, how can you still be speaking to him? After what he did to me!”

Hadn’t he learned anything in the past few weeks? How could he still take Gaston’s word over hers? Certainly he did not prefer Gaston to her. Or what if her Father didn’t care and after the loss of her reputation only wanted her out of his sight? 

Who would help her now? She had no one to go to, no one would open their doors to her. The only one willing to challenge Father had been Adam, but she could not go running to him whenever she needed him. That wouldn’t be fair. 

She hadn’t felt this alone since Mother died. Indeed, who would be on her side now?

“My darling, Gaston explained that to me.” Beads of perspiration dotted his hairline. Father soaked it up with the cuff of his yellowed nightdress. “He is so in love with you and being overwhelmed by your beauty-” 

“Stop it! I want nothing to do with him. How many times do I have to tell you?” She said. “I love Mr. Gold.”

“That Beast is not for you.”

“Don’t call him that!” Belle didn’t know where her anger was coming from. Never had she had troubles controlling her temper. Yet now she was on the verge of losing it. “All that I am asking is for you to talk to Mr. Gold. Don’t judge him and have a real conversation. Look for the good that I see in him. For heaven sales Father, he is probably the one who paid for the doctor!” 

Father harrumphed at her suggestion. “Then what? Goodness is not enough. Will you forsake your faith for this man? What do you expect of Mr. Gold? For him to change, all for your sake? How long would that last?” He raised his index finger. “What do you think Jesus would say about all of this this? Would He approve?”

Belle thought for a moment. She felt no inner condemnation from loving Adam. He may not believe as she did, but at least he was not a hypocrite. He was a better man as a sinner than other men were as saints. There was a kernel of truth in her Father’s words though. Adam changing for the better all for her sake, it wouldn’t last. But to be left to his own devices, he could lose his way again. He knew that Father heartily disliked him; if Father humbled himself and reached out to him, it might make a world of difference.

“I think Jesus would want me to be happy.” She countered. “Father, we must help Adam. We can’t abandon him now. He is my friend.”

Patricia let out a gasp when she heard Belle use her former employer’s Christian name. Such informalities implied further intimacy. 

“Your friend?” Father covered his eyes and groaned. “You make Mr. Gold out to be a hero like in one of your books. What has he done to earn your esteem? He was going to take away your childhood home; he would have thrown me into debtor’s prison or enslaved me if you hadn’t have sacrificed yourself. He would have thrown you girls out into the streets. Then he reigned havoc down this family and destroyed your virtue. In my book, there is nothing heroic about his actions.” He stated harshly, “He is the Beast and will always be the Beast. And frankly, I don’t care if that man goes to hell or not. In fact, if I survive him, I will dance on his grave while he is burning there.”

Never had her Father spoken that viciously before. The man was seething with his own unchecked fury.

She made no attempt to deny his accusations. Much of what Father said was true, aside from his ranting about Adam going to hell. Still, she could not discard Adam so easily. There was only one thing she could think of doing to sway her Father.

Belle got down on her knees beside his bed. “Father, please. There is a vast deal that you do not know. You can’t measure a man’s worth by his reputation alone. You have not seen what is in his heart.” In the calmest voice possible, she implored, “Please, I am begging you.”

Father scowled. “Very well. I don’t know what you hope to accomplish.” He said. “When I am on my feet again, I will call on him.”

“Thank you, Father. You won’t regret this.” Belle kissed the top of his hand. She pushed herself up and straightened to her full height. 

“Nonsense,” Father growled. “I already do.” 

A pair of arms wrapped around her midsection. Eloise rested her chin on her shoulder. “Everything will be all right. Just wait.” Her sister whispered in her ear. 

Belle hoped that Eloise was right. 

#

Adam dug the missive out of his pocket and smoothed out the crinkled piece of paper. The wind battered him unmercifully, blowing his hair into his eyes. The dark low hanging clouds released their moisture. The paper was dotted beside the hastily scribbled words. 

_“Meet me on the moors closest to my property.- Maurice French”_

“What could that fool want?” He asked himself again and again. 

Weeks had passed since Belle returned to her home and he heard nary a word from her or the family. Via the servants, he learned that Maurice was recovering and that his daughters were caring for him. Adam loathed Maurice, but he paid Dr. Whale handsomely to give that thorn in his side the best of care available. Belle was busy, that much he knew to be true, though there was a part of him that feared that she had forgotten him. As young as she was, it would be better if she had. There had to be a nice, religious chap out there better suited for her. One that could love her the way she deserved to be loved. Not that he would be happy if she married another fellow. But if she found happiness and was cared for, then that would be enough for him. 

He shoved the letter back into his pocket, on top of a certain folded document that he had drawn up by his solicitor. Per Mrs. Potts, rumors of Belle’s disgrace were rife in Ashby. At least this final meeting with Maurice wouldn’t be in vain. Some good could come out of it. 

Maurice French mounted the hill, he too using a cane for balance. Once the man regained his stamina, he wouldn’t have need of it. For that Adam was jealous. Maurice was as shallow as he was foolhardy; he would never realize how lucky he was to be that agile. Part of Adam wondered if the man faked his illness to make Belle return to the farm. Maurice might not be smart enough to concoct such a scheme, but that libertine Gaston Harcourt was vile enough.

Adam had not forgotten Gaston or the harm he intended to inflict on Belle. He had plans for Gaston. Once he was through with the man, that rat would never surface again amongst good company. He would be ruined; no better than the vermin in London. Belle would never have to waste a single thought on that blackguard.

The older man gave him a curt nod. 

“Good day, Mr. French.” Adam kept his tone even and made an attempt at being civil. Being good and polite was exhausting. “I hope you are in good health.”

“I am as well as can be expected, considering the circumstances.” Maurice replied. His cheeks puffed in and out from the exertion, as did his middle. 

Adam waited, but when he was met with silence, his patience beginning to wear thin. “What is it that you wished to speak to me about?”

Maurice grunted. “What do you think? Were I in better health, or if Gaston Harcourt were available to fight in my stead, I would challenge you in a duel for the harm you caused.” He threw one of his hands in the air. “Yet here I am on Belle’s behalf. She has it in her head that you can be saved and that after all the trouble you caused us, I must extend an olive branch to you.” 

Adam chuckled for the first time in weeks. At least she hadn’t given up on her crusade to save him from perdition. Albeit, it would have been better for all parties involved if she had. In the end, she needed to move on with her life.

“I know better than that. There is no hope for you. Men like you do not change.” Maurice sneered. 

He frowned. “Indeed not.” He took a step forward, seizing the coat collar of the man. There was no reason for him to show this man any curtesy, especially when he didn’t deserve it. “I’m not sorry for trying to take your land. If it weren’t for Belle’s sake, I’d try again and I would succeed. Nothing would make me happier than seeing you thrown out on your ass.” 

But as much as he hated Maurice, he could no longer stomach the thought of stealing the farm and the land from the French family. That had been Belle’s childhood home. Considering all that she had lost recently, at least she had a place to go to. 

Maurice drew back his lips into a satisfied smirk. He had wanted to instigate something. 

“The only thing I can apologize for is if I ruined Belle’s chances for making a decent match.” Adam released the man and smoothed out the wrinkles in his own coat.

“You are sorry? What good is your apology?” Maurice shook his head. “Who will have my girl? What am I to do with her? She doesn’t know it, but she can’t stay with us, not now. Not after fornicating with you. She’s damaged goods. Words alone can’t undo the harm you caused.” 

“How would you like to be impaled on a cane?” Adam snarled, “You worthless piece of…” 

_Breath, Adam, breath!_ More than anything he wanted to beat the living tar out of Maurice. The man had no real regard for his daughter. He only hoped that Belle had no idea how heartless her Father was. 

“So she needs a home.” Adam choked back his rage. He pulled the document out of his pocket and slapped it into Maurice’s palm. 

“What on earth?” Maurice’s eyes bulged when he opened it. He sputtered, “Th-this is an agreement endowing B-Belle with th-thirty thousand pounds.”

“It is for Belle’s dowry and only for Belle. It authorizes her to claim her wealth whenever she pleases, following her twenty-first birthday, of course. That way she will be officially of age.” 

That was only part of his fortune. Upon his demise, Belle would receive the remainder of it. What did he have need of it? He had no child to leave it to. Better that Belle have it and make her into a proper heiress. After all the turmoil he had put her through, she would want for nothing. She could have a fresh start and then be set for life.

Adam said, “You don’t touch it, you keep your filthy hands off of it. You don’t spend a farthing out of it. I don’t care if you are dragging your sorry carcass through the mud, starving and dying for a crumb of bread, you don’t use it. You can go to the hell for as far as I am concerned. It is solely for her. I want her to have the best.” He was no fool; he knew how this simple man’s mind worked. If he did not give strict instructions, Maurice would squander it all like he had his own money. Through this, Belle could have a home of her own and find a nice fellow worthy of her. “However, she will not marry Gaston Harcourt. Understand? She hates him. She chooses her own mate for life. If I so much as hear that you forced Gaston or any other blackguard onto her, I will hunt you down and skin you alive.” When he heard the man gulp, Adam knew he had more than made his point. He asked, “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes.” Maurice’s head bobbled up and down like an obedient dog. He slid the paper into his own pocket. “What will you do now? Will you stay in Ashby?”

“Why?” Adam folded his arms, tucking his fingers beneath to warm himself. “What concern of it is it to you?”

“My daughter is stubborn. She will never stop fighting for you as long as you are around.” 

“Not to worry, Mr. French.” Adam said. “I have been toying with the idea of returning to my bonny Scotland. But I swear, I will come back and haunt you if you do not treat your daughter the way she ought to be treated. No more of this disparaging talk against her. One word out of you, I will fix you. You ought to love her.” His throat thickened and swallowing was difficult. “That is my own way to fight for her.”

Maurice blinked. “You really do love her.”

Adam had a sharp retort prepared when a shot rang out.

The sound echoed off the vacant moorlands. It was close, too close to be safe. Suddenly his hearing became foggy. 

Adam felt a sharp pinch in his back, one that threw him to the ground. He tried to thrust himself upwards but the pain was too great, and he only made it to his knees. _Why isn’t that fool helping me?_ He craned his neck and found that Maurice hadn’t moved a muscle and was paralyzed by fear. 

Adam received a shove from behind and found himself sprawled out on his back. Rain drops pelted him in the face. 

Gaston Harcourt stood over him, a smoking horse pistol in his hand. 

_I have been shot!_ Adam attempted to sit up but his enemy pinned him down with his heavy foot. He sank further down into the boggy soil, the blood trickling out of his body, along with what life he had left in him. His hearing came rushing back in a roaring wave. 

“Gaston, what have you done?” Maurice screamed. He scrambled over and pushed the other man off. “Have you lost your mind?” 

“It is the only way to solve all of our problems, old man.” Gaston’s sharp blue eyes were cold, empty of all feeling. “That Beast will no longer trouble you. We can lead the rest of the world to believe that there was an accident. Or better yet, he was distraught and took his life.” 

While Gaston’s head was turned, Adam rolled onto his side and clawed for his cane. He dragged it over and held under his slim frame. If he was careful and his aim was precise, he could knock Gaston unconscious. Then at least Maurice could fetch help. 

“My goodness, Belle was telling the truth.” Maurice blocked the other man’s pathway and put his hand up to stop him. “No! I won’t let you kill him.”

“Then, old man, you are of no further use to me. I should have done this a long, long time ago.” Gaston raised the weapon, pointing it at the older man’s heart. 

“Stop! Get away from him!” Adam swung and slammed the cane’s handle into his enemy’s neck. The gun went off. Gaston stumbled down the hill.  
Maurice first dropped to his knees and then lifelessly he collapsed onto his large belly. 

“Maurice!” Adam shouted. He took a breath and crawled over to the unconscious man. “Maurice, wake up.” He rolled the man over and slapped his plump cheek. There were no bullet holes in his chest; however, there were traces of blood in the grass. “Damn it, Maurice, wake up!”

He felt the cold barrel digging into the side of his neck. Groping for his cane, his search came up empty. Gaston had reloaded the pistol. 

“Looking for this?” Gaston held the cane out of his reach and flung it off the hill. “For once that thing of is of no use to you. One more shot, that’s all I need.”

Were it only him, he wouldn’t plead for his life. He had too much pride. But with Maurice unconscious and helpless, he had to do something. “Don’t be stupid. The sheriff will figure it out. You are using your own weapon. If you turn yourself in now, they won’t hang you.”

“And let you live? I am doing the world a favor.” Gaston laughed. “Besides, the lawman is a friend of mine. And don’t worry about Belle. She will be in good hands.”

Adam closed his eyes. The burning in his back was intensifying by the second. The crimson trail was flowing down his spine. 

He had nothing to lose, he was dying anyway. This was his last chance. 

Twisting around, the barrel was inches from his nose. He brought his fist to his mouth and feigned a gagging cough, brushing his bloodied fingers against his mouth. 

Gaston lowered the weapon. “Already coughing up blood? It’ll only be a matter of time now. Why waste another bullet?” He said. 

Adam summoned whatever strength he had left within him, knocked the pistol from Gaston’s grip. It landed a few feet off. Before the oaf had a chance to react, Adam dove for the gun. He had his hands on it and securely around the handle when Gaston lunged for it. 

Another shot rang out. 

Gaston’s body went limp. There was a hole in his chest, where his heart would be. If he even had a heart.

 _Oh, God, I just killed a man!_ Adam dropped the pistol. 

For a moment he had regretted taking a life. Over the years, he had his share of murderous thoughts. Hell, that day at Ashby pond, when Gaston attempted to molest Belle, Adam was more than eager to beat Gaston to death. But there was a difference between having thoughts and actually taking a man’s life. 

But then he reminded himself that it was an accident and the gun went off in the struggle. If it hadn’t happened, Gaston would have gone after Belle and her sisters next. Now, the French’s would never have to worry about him again. 

Adam figured he was already on his way to hell. Taking Gaston with him would not change matters any.

Favoring his side, Adam leaned back over and discovered that it was Maurice’s arm that was wounded. He stuck his fingers in the hole and tore the material apart. The man’s upper arm was ripped open and the muscle was exposed, but it was not fatal. The shell had merely grazed him. 

“No, no!” He said. “Not now.”

Normally a deep scrape wouldn’t concern him. However, coupled with Maurice’s recent ailments, he was probably more susceptible to other sicknesses. This wound would not do his heart any favors.

 _Yes, Maurice must live._ Adam thought. He failed Mrs. French, allowing her to die a pitiful death. If it were in his power, he could not let Maurice suffer the same fate. Belle did not to deserve to lose both of her parents because of him. Besides, between his own wound and Maurice’s, Maurice had the better chance of surviving. 

Adam untucked his own shirt and ripped off a long strip. He tightly coiled it around Maurice’s arm, to cut off the flow of blood. Next he removed his cravat and secured the makeshift bandage in place with a knot. He sat back on his heels, thinking that it should bide the man some time. Someone had to have heard those shots and screams. He only hoped that Belle wouldn’t be the one to discover them like this. 

Maurice’s thick lids flapped open. He gasped for air. “I am going to die. My girls!” He let out a mournful cry. “I am going to die! God help me!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you imbecile. It is barely a scratch.” Adam said. 

The man’s face crumbled. “I’m sorry, Gold, so sorry.”

“So am I.” Adam heard the words come out of his mouth and was surprised to find out that he actually meant them. 

Marce’s eyes rolled back into his skull and he slackened. The man had no tolerance for pain. 

Adam grabbed his back, a pang seizing him once more. He stretched out on the ground, alleviating the pressure. It wouldn’t be long now. A few minutes and he would be gone from this world. But as long as Belle and her family were safe, nothing else mattered. 

His head started to throb and his hands were beginning to shake. This had to be what it death felt like. 

Adam broke down into tears. The last words he remembered mumbling before the world went white were: “I miss my boy... I miss Bae, I miss him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if Gaston's death seems a bit rushed or cliche'. I paralleled it with "Beauty and the Beast's" Gaston's death. I was also eager to get him out of the story. 
> 
>  
> 
> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/134785999509/dark-night-of-the-soul-chapter-17


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this has taken so long to wrap up. Only one more chapter to go. Thank you for all of your support and encouragement.

Maurice was reawakened by Mr. Gold’s throaty gasps for air. The younger man was sprawled on his back not far, lying on an expanding puddle of crimson. 

Gaston was there too, his eyes unblinking, the ecstatic sinister expression still present on his face. He was dead and he was beyond help. There was no reason to bother with him at all. 

Gold’s wheezes were like muted screams. Whatever life he had left in him was leaking out along with the blood. It was a miracle that he had lasted this long. The man had a will about him; that much Maurice could admire. 

Maurice drug himself over to the other man and rolled him forward. After removing the coat, he drew back the tail end of his shirt and first pressed the heel of his hand into the wound. I must slow the bleeding. He plugged the hole with his two fingers. Still the blood continued to squirt out. 

From the pressure, a slurred moan escaped from Gold. “Just let me die.” 

“No.” Maurice shot back. “I do not give you permission to die. What am I supposed to tell Belle?” He had failed his daughter repeatedly; he could not bear to tell her that the man she loved died sparing his life.

Gold mumbled a string of garbled words, none of which made sense. 

“Listen, if you don’t give up, I will give you my blessing to marry Belle. All right?” Maurice said. “Just don’t die.”

“Tell her…” Gold’s lashes flickered. “I love her.”

“Don’t be a coward.” He charged. “Tell her yourself.”

The pounding of horse hooves shook the ground. A flaxen haired driver stopped his gig along the road and he shielded his eyes, trying to discern what was wrong. “Are you all right? Do you require medical assistance?” The man asked, cupping his hands around his mouth.

Maurice squinted and recognized the younger man instantly. “Dr. Whale!” He raised his arm and waved it back and forth, flipping red droplets everywhere. “Over here! Over here! Make haste, my good man!” 

The doctor picked up his feet and reached them in a matter of seconds. He slowed, skidding on the ground on his knees. He made it to Gaston first, but Maurice shouted that the man was already dead. 

Dr. Whale flung his cap off and jerked Mr. Gold’s helpless frame closer to him. 

Another figure off in the distance, a feminine one, must have also heard the shots and his shouts. She lifted her skirts as she weaved around the hills. He remembered her from the meeting he had with her in Ashby. She was the attractive widow who worked as a housekeeper for Mr. Gold.

Mrs. Potts dropped down beside her employer and cupped his thin face. “Lord have mercy!” She screamed. “Mr. Gold! Please, God, no!”

“Please, do something, doctor!” Maurice begged. “Hurry! You can’t let him die!”

Mr. Gold’s skin was rapidly losing color. Were it not the warmth of his body and the shallow movement of his chest, he could have been mistaken for dead. 

Dr. Whale wrenched Mrs. Potts around and pointed. “Madam, there is a man who lives just past the knoll. Fetch him for me. I need help transporting these men to my home. That is where all of my instruments are.” 

“I can assist you, doctor.” The good woman wrung her hands and between gulps of sobs, she managed to say, “I know how to treat minor flesh wounds and can care for Mr. French.”

“Very good.” The doctor nudged her along, for there was no time to waste. “Thank you, madam. Make haste!” 

Mrs. Potts dashed off frantically. Her heart wrenching wails were heard whilst she traipsed through the moors. 

Maurice shook his head at the bitter irony. For a man so loathed and despised, Mr. Gold certainly had a good share of people concerned about him. If that was not a tribute to good character, he didn’t know what was. Belle had been right all along.

“Who did this?” The doctor broke into his thoughts. “Was it an accident? Did you not see one another and shoot each other?” 

Maurice shook his head. His eye lids were getting heavier by the second. Though his wound was superficial, it had exhausted him. He felt weaker than a new born calf. No doubt his own fragile health played a part. 

“Doctor, it was Gaston Harcourt.” He insisted. The stress left his shoulders. Were something to happen to him or Gold, at least someone else in this world knew the truth and could in form the authorities. “Gaston did this. He tried to kill us. Gold must have stopped him.”

“I see, then you two were acting in defense of yourselves. There might be an inquiry, but you two ought to come out unscathed.” 

Maurice chewed on his thick lower lip. “Will Gold live?” 

The doctor’s expression was bleak. He shrugged. “I don’t think so. I will do my utmost though.”

“He saved my life.” His aged eyes began to sting until he rubbed them. 

Maurice didn’t know why he felt sorry for the Beast. The man had been nothing but a bastard from day one. He caused endless amounts of suffering, not only to him but to the rest of Ashby as well, and was unrepentant about it up to the moment he had been shot. The man had taunted him, swearing that if it weren’t for Belle, he would resume his pursuit of stealing the French land. Yet somehow, that Beast had managed to work his way into his heart. 

Maurice wondered at himself. How could he have thought that Mr. Gold took advantage of his daughter? Aside from the man’s dark moods and vicious words, in the past not a single story had surfaced about the Beast compromising young ladies. The man had been married before and was a widower, of course, but that was all that had been said on his romantic entanglements. It had been Gaston himself who had circulated the lewd tales about Mr. Gold harming Belle. 

_Lord in heaven, please spare him._ He prayed. _For my girl’s sake._

After all Belle had been through, she deserved to have a some measure of happiness. And for whatever reason in the world, Gold was what she wanted. 

#

“No, please, tell me it’s not true!” Belle had said as soon as the words had left Father’s cracked lips. She couldn’t quite believe him, though she knew he wouldn’t have concocted such a cruel story. She grasped the high back of a chair and braced herself. 

Gaston had attempted to kill him and Adam? She rather wished than believed her Father to be mistaken. Considering that vile man had attempted to molest her, nothing he did could surprise her. But at least they no longer had to worry about Gaston.

Father had spread out on the doctor’s lounge while Mrs. Potts tended to his torn bicep. His fleshy muscle was protruding out of the gap. The older man winced, not from his nurse’s treatment, but from Belle’s emotional reaction. The housekeeper’s nimble fingers worked quickly, stitching the two folds of his skin in place. 

“I’m sorry, dear.” Her Father replied. “I’m afraid it is.” He stuck a wooden spoon handle between his teeth and bit down on it. 

Belle spun around when the door open and felt crestfallen when she did not find the doctor standing there. The doctor was in the other room, removing the shell from Adam. More than anything she wished she could be present, but she would likely be more of a hindrance than a help. The physician thought her too emotionally fragile to be of use. 

“At least we no longer have to worry about Gaston.” Eloise stated.

Patricia abruptly convulsed into sobs. Only then did Belle realize that her sister had been violently in love with Gaston. Considering the extent of the man’s wickedness, there was no doubt in her mind that he had imposed himself on to her sister. The only positive about Patricia’s sort of love was that it wouldn’t be long lasting. In a few days she would be her old self and besotted by another beau. 

Belle heard Father grunt his displeasure as Mrs. Potts pierced his skin for the final time with the needle. 

Eloise gathered her into her arms. “Belle, you must calm yourself. Working yourself into hysterics won’t help Father or Mr. Gold. They need you to be the strong one now. We all do.” 

“What if the Lord has His way again and takes them both from me?” She clung to her sister, tired of being the strong one. For once, couldn’t the others be strong for her? “This is my fault.”

“Nonsense. You did nothing wrong. No one loves more deeply than you.” Eloise framed her face with her hands. “Gaston Harcourt committed those evil acts. That is where the blame lies.”

Belle nodded, though she couldn’t quite convince herself of that. This had to be a punishment for something she had done in the past. There was no other explanation. 

“Finished!” Mrs. Potts declared, rising from her crouched position. She had tied a fresh bandage onto Father’s arm. “The good Lord was watching over you, as always, Mr. French. If Mr. Gold hadn’t tied off that limb, you would have had lost more blood.” 

Father extended his good arm, his hand opened to her. “Belle, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” His chin wobbled. “I should have believed what you said about Gaston and should have trusted your instincts about Mr. Gold. If only I hadn’t so engrossed in my own sadness, I could have prevented all of this.”

When she grabbed his hand, she kissed it. “Shh. As long as you are well and Adam survives.” Belle felt the unasked question burning inside her. Despite what the answer would likely be, she had to know. She had to hear it for herself. “Mrs. Potts, do you think...Adam will live, right? He has to.”

Mrs. Pott’s hand flew to her pale lips. “Dear girl, we must be honest with ourselves. The wound is lodged deep in his back. The doctor will do whatever is humanly possible. Even if Dr. Whale can extract it, what can we do about infection?” She briefly hugged her and brushed off a few remaining tears. “Now, I am going to see if I can offer my assistance to the doctor. We will do what we can, I promise you that.” The little woman quit the room. 

A pistol wound could be fatal. If not, gangrene was. A man could have nothing more than a minor scratch and if infection set in, he could die of a fever the next day. Infection could even set in Father’s small wound. The men she loved could both be taken from her. 

Belle crumbled to the floor, sobs wracking her frame. The last time she had felt such inner turmoil was when her Mother died. If she lost Adam or her Father, the dark melancholy would surely engulf her once more. What would happen to her if she didn’t have her Father? Adam wouldn’t be there to pull her out as he had promised. How would she be able to take care of her sisters alone and no one there to help her? They would be lost. 

“Oh, Belle, don’t carry on so.” Patricia hissed, she scrunched her beautiful face into a spiteful grimace. “That Beast was going to take our home from us and he forced you into service. If it weren’t for him, Gaston would still be alive. Good riddance to him.” Were it ladylike to spit, she would have.

“Be quiet, Patricia! I love Adam.” She grabbed fistfuls of her skirt and would have torn it into shreds if she had been alone. No wonder Adam was prone to breaking things. Grief was maddening. “Adam wasn’t what we thought. There is good inside of him. I saw it. He protected me from Gaston. He gave me his library. He bought me books and gloves. Whenever I was upset, he brought me cups of chocolate.” She looked up to her father expectantly. “Father, he saved your life. Doesn’t that count for something? If he dies-”

Belle couldn’t speak those dreadful words aloud. Imagining Adam’s demise was bad enough. What would she do without him? Ashby and the rest of the world would not miss him, but she would never overcome losing him.

She felt a firm hand on her shoulder. 

Father said, “Belle, you have never given up hope before. To admit defeat now, that is not your nature.” He slanted his head and paused. “I overlooked Mr. Gold’s good qualities and God forgive me for that. The only thing we can do is pray for him and commit him to the Lord.”

Belle closed her eyes and pleaded with God for a miracle. Not only for her sake, but for Adam’s. 

#

Two hours lapsed before Belle and her family heard the doctor leave his patient. Dr. Whale, with Mrs. Potts close on his heels, crept into the parlor. The man looked pensive but not distraught. Belle took that as a good sign. 

Belle had been sitting beside her Father with her head on his shoulder, sipping a cup of chocolate. She shot to her feet. “How is he? Is Adam alive?” 

The doctor untied his surgical apron strings and bundled the soiled garment into a ball. Her stomach churned at the thought of Adam’s blood spilling all over the place. “Well, the bullet is out and I know it is not popular amongst most physicians here in England, but I used Indian poultices to cleanse the wound. I learned about them in my studies of alternative medicines. They fight best against infection.” He crossed his arms, his forearms streaked in red. “The problem is that he lost a great quantity of blood. More than the human body can afford. The rest is up to Mr. Gold.”

Eloise said, “We should go now.” 

If Adam recovered, it would be days, maybe weeks before he could leave his room. She couldn’t wait that long. Not when there was a chance that he could still die. The last thing she could do was go home when he was in the next room barely clinging to life. 

Belle took a breath. “May I see him?”

There was a collective gasp throughout the room. 

The lounge groaned as her Father rose up from it. He said, “Belle, you are not married to him. It would be highly improper.”

Single ladies did not enter the chambers and go to the bedside of men. However her reputation was in ruins as it was; how could it get any worse?

“Please, I am begging you.” Belle received only astonished looks from her family. While they were softening towards her beau, they would not sanction this. She turned to the doctor. “Please, doctor. I need him to know that I love him. If he goes, I want to be there with him. Please.”

Dr. Whale nodded. “Yes, of course.” Before the others could intervene, he ushered her to the room across the hall and shoved the door back. Before she entered, he suggested, “Talk to him. Mr. Gold can hear you.”

Belle made her way to the bed and froze when she saw him. 

Adam’s narrow face was white and his features were rigid. His eyes were closed and his grey lips were pressed together in a decided line. The rise and fall of his chest was faint. She had never seen him wearing anything other than his everyday clothes. That he was in a plain nightshirt and his hair was dampened by sweat and dew, made him seem as if he were at a disadvantage. He would put up a fuss knowing that people had witnessed him looking unkempt.

She grasped his hand. It felt much too chilled. He’s dying, dear Lord, he is really dying! Once more she began to cry. 

“Adam, I am here. Thank you for saving my Father.” She kissed each of his knuckles. “Please, don’t leave me. I love you. I need you.”

There was a knock on the door. Belle clenched her eyes shut. Why couldn’t she have more time?

“Belle, we have to go home. Father is exhausted.” Eloise’s voice broke through the wooden barrier. “You and I can return first thing in the morning and we can wait by Mr. Gold’s bedside all day if need be.” 

There would be no return in the morning. In her heart of hearts, Belle knew that there was a chance that she would never see him again alive. That was why her sister was trying to part her from him. Eloise didn’t want her to watch Adam die.

She bent down and brushed her mouth against his whitening lips and whispered, “Come back to me.”

Belle started to leave and stopped to look at Adam once more. She needed an image to take with her in case she never saw him again. 

After all, ladies were not allowed to attend funerals. 

#

Adam turned his head upwards, to feel the sun’s morning light on his face. It filled his soul, rejuvenating him. He opened his eyes and looked around. He was on the winding road that led out of Ashby. _How did I end up here?_ No memories resurfaced of him taking a walk or his carriage breaking down. Yet here he was in the middle of nowhere. 

A childish giggle floated through air, tickling his eardrums. 

He turned around in time to see a small boy skipping along the road. The child was frail and had a messy crop of hair. 

His heart stopped. “Bae.” 

The boy started to run. 

Adam chased after him, pumping his arms as he used to do when he was a wee lad, before he had his limp. It had been well over twenty years since he had been able to run.

Within seconds, he had caught up and hoisted the child into his arms. “Bae, my boy.” 

He lowered to the ground, holding him close and kissed the top of his head. Bae smelled of chocolate and dirt. For him that was one of the best scents in the world. 

Bae leaned back and grinned. “Papa, I love you.”

Adam sighed. It had been over three years since he heard those words. “I love you too, I missed you.” 

“Where is Dog?” Bae asked, looking around for the cane. 

“I have no need of him here, I guess.” He lifted and dropped his shoulders. “I never thought I would see you again. Nothing will ever take you from me again.”

He must have died. If heaven existed, this had to be it. How else could he see his son and be whole in mind and body? Despite everything, the last few years of pain and the last couple of months of bliss with Belle, he could now be at peace. In his mind, there was no better way for him to go. After a while, she wouldn’t pine for him and would make a new life for herself. Gaston would no longer be a friend to her. She would find a good man, worthy of her and be happy with him. 

Bae shook his small head. “No, Papa, it’s not time for you.”

“What?” Adam blinked, unsure of what the child was speaking of. “Time for what?”

“You have to go back.” Bae slid off his lap and scampered off a few paces. He extended his tiny finger in the opposite direction. “Go back, now, go back!”

 _Oh God, I’m not dead._ Adam stood and was about to run after his son, but his limbs were as heavy as lead. His knee ached. “No, please, no! I can lose you again. Bae!” He screamed for the child to return. “Please, please, not again! Please, don’t do this to me!”

Bae waved. “I’ll be waiting. I love you.” He shooed him off. “Go back now, Papa, go back.” The child continued to walk off.

“I love you too, laddie.” Adam said. “Bae…”

He stood stock still and braced his hand against his back. A searing pain rushed through his body and he cried out. 

Adam touched his mouth. His lips felt warm and he tasted that chocolate drink that Belle dearly loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end, that is true love's kiss that awakens Adam. 
> 
>  
> 
> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/136549167569/dark-night-of-the-soul-chapter-18


	19. Chapter 19

Adam tried to twist around in the bed but the sharp piercing pain in his back made his muscles tense up. Through his muddled thoughts, he could not remember falling and hurting himself. Nor had he been ill or had any fevers. The last full memory he had was of finding Bae along the side of the road and giving him a proper good-bye. Memory or vision, it did his heart good. Just to see Bae robust with health and fully happy and no longer suffering, that was enough. That image could last him a lifetime. 

He cracked open his eyes and waited for his vision to focus. The room he was in was not his own; it was too simple and quaint. A tower of bandages was neatly stacked on a nearby table, next to a basin full of water. By that was a tray of surgical instruments and an assortment of foreign-looking powders and liquids. 

He was in the doctor’s home. 

The quarrel on the moors…Of course! Gaston Harcourt had shot him and then grazed Maurice French’s fatty arm. Then somehow- despite all of that pain- Adam had managed to wrestle the weapon away from Gaston and it went off. 

_I have to tell someone the truth!_ That way the authorities would know that neither he nor Maurice was at fault. Though he survived the shot and the operation, in all likelihood he would die. There was always the threat of infection. Or that stretching out of the bed could cause the bleeding to resume None of that seemed to matter, as long as Belle and the rest of her family was safe. 

“Come on, you can do this.” He said through gritted teeth.

A cold sweat broke out on him. Disregarding the aching, he pushed himself into a sitting position. He glanced down and found Belle sleeping curled up in the chair at the bedside. She’s all right! He swallowed; his mouth felt dry, as though it were full of cotton. 

Adam shifted and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Belle!” He nudged her a little harder. “Belle?” He croaked out.

Belle woke with a start. “Adam?” She threw her arms around his neck. “I was afraid- I thought you were going to die. The doctor said you might.” She toyed with the ends of his hair. “I can’t believe I almost left you. The second I set foot outside, I knew I had to come back. I love you.” 

When she settled on the side of the bed, he stroked her cheek. “I know, sweetheart, I know. And I love you.” He asked, “How is your father? Is he all right? Did he survive?” 

“He is well, thanks to you. You saved his life.” Her bright blue eyes searched his, studying intently. “You’re different. Your eyes are soft. Something has changed.”

Though he felt exhausted from his initial brush with death, somehow his soul felt lighter. He was free. The bitterness, the hatred, the sadness had been pulled out of him as though it had been extracted along with that bullet. He could die at peace now. Not that he wanted to. On the contrary, he wanted to embrace life and live at peace. However, he had grown accustomed to not getting what he desired.

Adam pressed his finger tips to his heart. “I saw my Bae; he was all right. Just like you said.” He smiled ruefully. “But his death will haunt me forever. I will never truly get past losing him, you can understand that, right?”

“No one expects you to. I certainly don’t.” Belle assured him. 

He fumbled with her hand, wishing that they were at the Dark Castle. At home, in his bedroom, where he kept his mother’s old wedding band. It would fit her finger perfectly. 

“Belle, would you consider... will you marry me? I already got your Father’s blessing.” 

To him it seemed unfair that he could propose and wed her and never enjoy being her husband. With all of his luck, infection would claim him in a matter of days. Still, at least she would be provided for. She would never want for anything again. Belle could have the Dark Castle and she could save her childhood home and farm too. With her generous heart, she wouldn’t fall prey to the selfishness that he had. She would help others. 

Belle leaned forward, until her mouth was touching his. “I hope that this answers your question.” She whispered against him.

“Sufficiently.” Adam said. 

He held the kiss until he remembered the one thing that had made him send her away. Yes, Maurice’s health had collapsed, but that had only been an excuse that he used. Being the cause of her Mother’s death had been the real reason. Belle dearly loved her mother and would be devastated to learn the truth. But it was better she learn it now, than for him to try and hide it from her. If anything, after all he had put her through, she deserved to know the whole story. Whatever her response was, he would deserve it.

Adam parted from her and brought up a finger. “Wait. There is one more thing. It will change your mind, but who could blame you?”

“I doubt that.” Belle leaned in for another kiss but he held her back. 

“No, listen to me.” He inhaled a deep breath, causing his back to cramp up. His breathing was growing shallow. “Your mother caught scarlet fever from my wife and child. She was nursing them. I was the one who ruined everything for her, for you and for your family. I could have done something for her and for the rest of you, but I didn’t.” He bit the inside of his cheek. “I’m sorry, Belle, I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me?” 

Belle sat back on the bed, stunned by his confession. The color in her cheeks diminished. Her widened eyes watered. 

Adam held his breath and counted the seconds that it took her to respond. There were more than sixty of them and they felt more like minutes. 

She cupped her hand to his cheek. “Adam, there is nothing to forgive. My mother went to your family because she felt called to. She never faulted you or Mrs. Gold or Bae. Mother prayed for you. She prayed for you, that you might find healing from your losses.” A single tear did fall, though it resembled more of a happy one than a sad one. “It still hurts, but for whatever reason, it was her time. Perhaps my mother is watching after Bae now.”

Adam shook his head and drew her close. “I should have been there at the funeral or done something for you all.” He brushed that tear away with his lips, savoring the salty flavor of it. “I should have taken care of you. I could have spared you so much suffering.”

“Well, it seems to me that is exactly what you have been doing the last few months. When you are well enough, I want us to be married. Then, as the books have it, we can have our happy ending. No more excuses. All right?”

“All right.” He furrowed his brow, perplexed by her words. While she was innocent, she surely knew how perilous an open wound could be. “Wait...I am going to live? How can you know that for certain? Belle, the chances of infection-”

“Are very slim now.” Belle said. “You have a very good doctor, schooled in medicines that the natives of the Former Colonies use. Besides, I have faith.”

“As do I, sweetheart.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “As do I.”

Not exactly the same faith she had, but he had enough faith that they could be together and nothing would stand in their way.

#

December 1813 

Belle drew the second volume of “Pride and Prejudice” closer to her side as she headed for the parlor. It was her week to have the book. Since Adam awoke, they passed the novel back and forth, underlining their favorite passages and leaving little notes for each other between the pages. 

With “Pride and Prejudice,” she would be in good company when she climbed that old maple tree. Though she had been home for several weeks, between Father’s and Adam’s recoveries, she hadn’t had much time alone. A little solitude would set her up for a while and she hadn’t been up in that tree in ages. 

Upon entering the parlor, Belle froze at the sight of her Father and Mrs. Potts standing close, his arm about her waist and her lips on his cheek. The two parted immediately, red-faced. Neither attempted to explain and merely acted as though nothing odd had occurred. 

Belle took her cue from them and followed their lead. She kissed her friend’s cheek. “Good morning, Mrs. Potts. What brings you here?”

Father dipped his head and shifted his booted feet. He could not face her and in that instance, she understood. He and Mrs. Potts had formed an attachment. She should have seen it coming. Mrs. Potts had been so attentive to her Father, bringing over meals, books and newspapers. Father shared stories with her, as though he were a young man intent on impressing his beloved. The last time he had been that jovial was prior to Mother’s illness.

“Oh, I was…um, calling on you to see how you all have been fairing.” Mrs. Potts stammered and gave her a side hug. “How have you been, dear? You look lovely and happy.”

“I have been well.” Belle pressed the volume against her stomach and wrapped her arms around it. “Would you like something to drink? Some tea, perhaps?”

“Not at this moment.” Mrs. Potts shook her head. 

Father and Mrs. Potts exchanged a similar look, hoping to communicate something that she would not understand. Unfortunately for her, she was able to translate their secret language.

Her Father feigned a cough into his large fist. “Belle, I was going to take Mrs. Potts for a drive.” He timidly met her gaze. “Does that suit you?”

Belle stiffened with rebellion, but swallowed back whatever contrary feelings she had. “Of course. Have a lovely time.” She nodded. 

Father poked out his elbow and Mrs. Potts eagerly grabbed onto it. As they were disembarking, Mrs. Potts said over her shoulder, “Oh, and Belle, dear, Mr. Gold has plans of taking you for a walk.” She gave a little wave, wiggling her fingers. “Enjoy yourself.”

Their merry chatter drifted throughout the hallway into the remainder of the house.

Belle waited until they drove off before laying the book down and retreating to her maple tree. She climbed up the unsteady ladder, reaching her desired branch and took a seat on it. The bitter winds sliced through her and though she was risking a chill, she preferred to be on her own for a little while. 

As much as she loved her Father and Mrs. Potts, she didn’t want them to marry. Not this soon. Oh, he had mourned the respectable amount of time that society dictated, but that didn’t seem long enough to her. How could Father’s feelings for Mother be that shallow? One month he was the in the depths of despair over losing his esteemed wife of thirty years and the next he was mad about another woman. Were her parents’ roles reversed and Mother had survived him, she would have never kept company with another man. The thought would have never occurred to her. Mother would have remained true him for the rest of her days.

On top of all that, Father hadn’t taken her or her sisters’ feelings into account. However, her sisters likely wouldn’t be as disturbed by his budding relationship. Since her return to the farm, things did not go back to normal. Eloise was happy to have her there, but Father and Patricia…they maintained an aloofness around her. Though he had given his blessing, her Father was still upset over her “fall from grace” during the time she lived at the Dark Castle. No matter how many times she assured him that she still possessed her purity, he didn’t truly believe her. No doubt he would be relieved when she was out of his house for good. 

“What a lovely bird you make.” A warm voice broke into her thoughts. Adam was standing by the tree, resting his hand upon it. “Though, to me I always thought you looked more like a dove than a pigeon.”

“Good morning.” Belle mustered up a smile, remembering that this was where they first met. What a drastic change there had been in her impressions of him!

Bit by bit, Adam was on the mend. The poultices that Dr. Whale used on him worked wonders. The doctor claimed that Adam’s health had rebounded twice as fast as a man half his age. In her mind Providence had a Hand in it as well, but above all it was the love that they shared that had given him incentive. 

Swinging her leg around, she descended. As she neared the bottom she felt his strong hands on her waist guiding her down. When she was on solid ground, she stood on tiptoe and kissed the corner of his mouth. 

Belle took his arm and allowed herself to be led down the hill. She watched him from the corner of her eye. Though he had a definite change of heart and was by far happier than she had ever seen him, he was still the same man that she initially fell in love with. While he was open and teasing with her to the point of flirtation, with most others he was reserved and was known to have a sharp tongue from time to time. Some old habits die hard. But then again…

 _I wouldn’t change him one bit._ She thought to herself. 

At least she could count on Adam to be constant. 

#

Adam felt fidgety under his fiancée’s gaze. Much like a school boy under a severe headmaster’s. He might not be the most perceptive man in the world, but even he could tell something was wrong. Generally Belle was the one who carried the conversation and coaxed him into talking. However now she was the one to wear the dour expression. Perhaps it had finally dawned on her that she shouldn’t marry him. If that were true, he could hardly fault her. She would be sacrificing more to marry him, than he would to marry her.

Unable to take the scrutiny, he stopped in his tracks. “Are you unhappy with me, Belle?” He asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, of course not. It is not you, believe me.” Belle sighed and shrugged, her shoulders falling into a small droop. “Father and Mrs. Potts are out on a drive. It won’t be long before you will be without a housekeeper.”

For a second he thought she might be apprehensive about him losing a servant, but quickly concluded that wasn’t it. No, it was something else entirely. She was not happy about her father plunging into a second marriage.

He faced her and put a hand on his hip. “Belle, you like Mrs. Potts. You always have; you love her. She loves you in return and views you as her daughter. I would have thought you would have approved.”

“Really? Then you don’t know me as well as you think. I thought my Father would remain loyal to my Mother’s memory.” Belle said sharply. It was the first time in months that he had heard a cross word from her, that it sounded unnatural. He had to admit, were she not so serious, he would have found it amusing. “My Mother has been in the ground a little over a year and he is ready to wed again. It is not right. He is acting as though she never existed.”

He chuckled to himself. He never thought he would have lived to see the day that he defended Maurice French. God certainly had an ironic sense of humor. “In case you have forgotten, I am remarrying after only three years. To a comely, young lass too.” He winked. “Is that wrong of me?”

“No, but that is different.” She protested, blushing. 

“Really? How so?” He raised his brow. 

Belle folded her arms, although her reserve was faltering. “Mr. Gold, since you are to be my husband, you are supposed to side with me on all family disputes.”

“I see. Is that a rule?”

“Yes, it is my rule.” Her frown finally gave way to smile. 

Adam dipped his head and quickly brushed his lips against hers. “I am sure it cannot be easy, but it is far better for your Father to have someone than to mourn the rest of his days. It is difficult to lose someone you love and then allow yourself to drown in that sadness, all the while being alone. Believe me, I know.” He tucked her hand beneath his arm once more and patted her fingers. 

“Very well, you have made your point, sir.” She said. “But don’t believe for a second that because you won this argument that you will win them all.”

“Oh, I know better than to think that.” Adam replied. 

They drew close to the town of Ashby and paused, knowing better than to set foot in it. Neither he nor Belle had much to do with that place anymore. As content as he was courting her and was convinced that they would have a good marriage, he knew that if they stayed in this part of Hampshire that they wouldn’t be happy. Because of their scandalous beginning, they would never be welcome in society or in a church. They would never have many friends, nor could they enter the town without feeling scorn. Their future children would be spat upon. 

In addition that, though Maurice had been kinder in his treatment towards Belle, Adam could sense that the old man was embarrassed of her. The French’s were not comfortable to be seen with her in public, since she had long since lost her reputation. It took every ounce of his fortitude to keep his temper in check. He was never going to truly like Maurice French. It was only out of deference to Belle that he was cordial to her father, and went as far as defending the man.

That was no way to begin a life together. Belle might eventually grow to despise him and regret marrying him.

For a while now, he had felt Scotland calling to him, beckoning him to return. Much like the Prodigal Son to his benevolent parent. He had only lived in England due to the entailment and to escape his past. Aside from Bae and now Belle, Ashby held very few happy memories for him. 

Adam rested his hands on her shoulders. “Belle, there is something I wanted to discuss with you. Are you happy here in Ashby?”

“I suppose.” Belle gave him a long questioning look. “Why?”

He summoned all of his strength and decided that if she did not like his idea, then he could endure anything as long as he had her by his side. “Well, it is going to be a long, long while before anyone in the vicinity forgets how we did live together for a time prior to our wedlock. People don’t forgive easily and I don’t believe I will ever be accepted here. Most of that was my doing and were it just me, it wouldn’t bother me.” He declared, “But with you as my wife, I want more for us and if we have children, they deserve more too. I was thinking that we could go to London and marry, and if you are willing, we travel for a while before we settle on a home. Scotland is a nice place.” 

Belle’s lips parted and she exhaled. She walked a few paces and hugged herself.

“I know it won’t be the life you are used to, but we could create a new home together. It’s a fine, beautiful place and I think that in time you will like it. And I will agree to whatever other rules you set.” Adam chewed on his lower lip, hoping his little quip would make her laugh. “What do you think?”

In one swift movement, she turned around and said, “I think that you are my home. Wherever we can be together, that is where I’ll be the happiest. And the truth is, I have always wanted to travel and see other places. Bonny banks, purple hues and sunsets that make you cry…Scotland sounds perfect.”

Adam was beaming. He gathered her into his arms and kissed her soundly. 

They turned back around and retraced their steps, prepared to face the world together , heading towards their happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Okay, this is the final chapter, folks. I am just blown away by the support and response for this fic. I wasn’t sure how people would react to a semi-inspirational fan fic of Rumbelle, but everyone has been great. I have made so many new friends through this. And to my amazement, Dark Night of the Soul has been nominated for a T.E.A. award. Thank you for all who have read this, sent comments, reblogged and who have befriended me. 
> 
>  
> 
> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/137956387654/dark-night-of-the-soul-chapter-19


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